


Take My Breath Away

by RealityBetterThanFiction



Series: Flyboys [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 80's Rom-Com-Drama, A Little Bit of Flying Too, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aviators, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Excessive Cursing, Fluff, I Know Nothing About the Royal Navy So Please Excuse Me, Instructor!Louis, Liam and Zayn are Codependent, M/M, Major Character Injury, NSFW, Pilot!Harry, Plane Accident, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, RIO!Niall, Ridiculous 1D References, Scottish Highlands, Smut, Tattoos and Call Signs, Top Gun - Freeform, Wingmen, gratuitous movie quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 153,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealityBetterThanFiction/pseuds/RealityBetterThanFiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a prestigious school in the British Royal Navy classified as Premier Delta - or as it is known by its flyers, 1D. These select pilots are an elite set of Naval lieutenants who are trained in the skill of aggressive aerial combat. They are instruments of war, trained in times of peace. They are dogfighters, relentless and fearless in their mission to protect their beloved country. From their lofty vantage, they are always watching, waiting, and ready to lay it all on the line.</p><p>Lt. Harry Styles, call sign Sparrow, is a prodigy when it comes to flying. The owner of an unrivaled Naval pedigree, being a pilot was always written in the stars for Harry. With his trusty RIO, Lt. Niall Horan, Harry has made an unprecedented ascension in the ranks of the Naval aerial combat elite, and has been recruited to the esteemed Premier Delta flight school, carrying on his family’s legacy. What he finds there are unexpected friendships, perilous challenges, and something beyond what he ever thought possible. Because as his father had always told him, before the great Captain Styles went tragically missing in combat, you don’t fall in love with the sky, you fall in love with what keeps you on the ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. XFCTR Base - RNAS Culdrose, Cornwall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keep_Calm_And_Read_Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Calm_And_Read_Fic/gifts).



> Hello lovelies!
> 
> This goes to Keep_Calm_And_Read_Fic. I don’t know you. I have never met you. I only see your wonderfully positive interactions with the 1D fandom, both here and on Tumblr. But I can tell you this…your fresh take on beloved fairytales question the convention of what society tells us is an acceptable “love story.” I wish we had more writers like you in the mainstream, because there would be a whole lot less hate out there if that was the case. Thank you for so many enjoyable hours being swept away in stories I thought I knew, but really enjoy re-learning.
> 
> Enjoy and thanks for reading!
> 
> The boring (but important) stuff...I do not own anything related to either of these verses (One Direction or Top Gun, though God I wish I did) and am in no way making a profit off of this work. I'm simply a fan sharing with fellow fans. As such, I would greatly appreciate keeping this story here on AO3 only, so please do not print, post or translate it elsewhere without my permission. And please do NOT share this with anyone in or associated with One Direction. This story does not reflect my opinions on the personal lives of the people off of which these CHARACTERS are based. This is purely a work of fiction, and I love the boys of 1D for whoever they are in real life. (Dismount soapbox...sorry!!!!)
> 
> Great balls of fire...here we go!
> 
> A little mood music --> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=siwpn14IE7E  
> Highway to the Danger Zone - Kenny Loggins

“I’ve had about enough of this shit, Sparrow. Turn and burn this motherfucker. I’m gettin’ a hard-on now, baby! Wooo-hooo!”

 

 _I love my job_ , Lieutenant Harry Styles thought with a grin as wide as the sky around him, slamming the yoke to the side and sending his beautiful F-14 Tomcat spinning like a barrel down a hill. This was what he had always dreamed of, what he had wanted for as long as he could remember. It had been his only dream, fostered by endless hours on his back porch as a child meticulously folding paper into planes that he sent soaring on the warm, summer breeze. More than the adrenaline, more than the challenge, it was the freedom that Harry had always chased above all else. Just like those little paper airplanes that had been swept away to travel the world…or at least his neighbor’s back yard…Harry was lost to the wind, happy to let it take him wherever it so desired. That same beloved symbol of freedom was now resting in metal form as a charm around his neck on the same chain as his dog tags, reminding him to never forget the childlike wonder that came along with following your dreams.

 

“Well, you better squeeze it, Craic. No time to fire off prematurely. I can’t get a lock on this bugger,” Harry called back at his RIO through his in-mask comm. Behind him, Lieutenant Niall Horan cackled like a demon from the darkest pits of hell. “Come on now, I just want to say a friendly hello,” Harry muttered, attention now back on his radar and the F-22 in his sights.

 

“You’re just jealous of my stamina, mate. Stop teasin’ and get to pleasin’!” Niall hollered like this was the best damn moment in his entire life. In fact, _every hop_ was the best moment in Niall’s life… _every moment_ was the best moment in Niall’s life. He was always up up up, going ballistic at mach-two in a straight shot up toward the stars. As RIOs went, Niall was as wild as a hurricane, but as friends, he was as steady as the eye of the storm. That’s why they worked so well together and had done so for the past six years since suffering through basic training together. They were both the very best at what they did, with an equal proclivity toward a little bit of mayhem and that steely dependence that kept them tied together toward the greater good.

 

“ _Highway to the dannnngerrr zooooone!_ ” Niall sang out merrily, and if he wasn’t strapped into his seat, he would be doing a spirited pelvic thrust as punctuation. Sometimes Harry thought that Niall had only joined the Royal Navy’s flight school because he wanted a real life re-enactment of that trashy 80’s American classic, _Top Gun_. At Niall’s insistence, they probably watched it a solid two times a week by now and spent far longer than Harry cared to admit quoting it back and forth while on hops.

 

“Oh shit! He’s going vertical!” Niall suddenly called, back to business.

 

“And so are we. He’s mine.”

 

“That’s the spirit, bird brain! Go get him! Let’s shove these missiles right up his arse!”

 

_Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep_

 

Harry bit his lip and stabilized his plane in a vertical line down toward the ground as he tried to get a lock. He was getting really sick and tired of that damned incessant beeping. As Niall had said, albeit in much more decorative prose, it was time to finish this. “Come on, come on,” he murmured to himself, sweat dripping down his neck beneath his helmet. He took a deep breath, holding it in his chest, and then -

 

_Beeeeeeeppppp_

 

“I’ve got tone!” Harry yelled, twitchy finger hovering right over the missile release, without pressing it. Not yet. Not this time.

 

“Fuckin’ right!” Niall gave a primal scream and raised his hands in the air. “Barracuda’s dead! Great balls of fire!”

 

The moment the target lock tone sounded, Harry’s hand methodically eased the throttle back from full, allowing the jet to coast through the clouds now that the training mission was complete. They had effectively neutralized their target…for the last time. The muttered curses of their flight instructor, Barracuda, could still be heard through the radio as they dropped below the hard deck, headed back for base.

 

“Congratulations, gentleman,” Barracuda’s smooth voice transmitted through their helmets. “And Craic, for the love of God, stop referencing _Top Gun_ every time you get in a god-damned plane.”

 

Niall exploded into another fit of manic cackling. “Sir, yes, sir!” he called, giving a little salute.

 

Harry allowed himself only a single chuckle before he was speaking through his mask back to base.

 

“Xray-Foxtrot-Charlie-Tango-Romeo. Tower this is Ghostrider Three-Two-Niner, requesting a fly-by.”

 

“Negative Ghostrider. The pattern is full,” immediately echoed the stuffy, warbled voice of their commander. It was the infamous Harry Styles’ and Niall Horan’s last day of training at the XFCTR naval base and they couldn’t even acknowledge that momentous occasion with one measly little fly-by? Preposterous.

 

From behind Harry, his boisterous RIO moaned in exasperation. “Bucket of cunts. Name me one bloody time the pattern _isn’t_ full. Damn febs. Shoulda stayed me arse home and flown for the Irish.”

 

Harry smiled. “Craic, the Irish Naval Service is nothing compared to that of the United Kingdom,” he said, adopting an even more posh accent than he already possessed. “We’ve been over this. They’re too busy drowning themselves in Guinness and praying to the almighty potato gods to stave off another famine.”

 

He felt a hand pound against the back of his seat. “You watch it, mate, or I’ll ‘ _accidentally_ ’ push your eject button next time I’m back here and finding meself a bit bored.”

 

“So what do you think?” Harry asked, gracefully rolling the plane to her stomach so that he could look down - or up, rather - at the miles of open British land below them. He rolled it back over when he felt all the blood rush to his face.

 

“Ah. I dunno, Sparrow. Wouldn’t you just rather buy me a couple of pints at the pub? No need to impress me with your fancy flying now. I’m already yours until the end.”

 

Harry smiled widely. Yep. He really loved his RIO. “Sorry, Craic, but it’s time to buzz the tower.”

 

Before Niall could think of another lame movie quote to throw at him, Harry pushed the throttle forward and raced the plane toward the landing strip.

 

“Coming in hot, Sparrow. Speed 400 knots,” Niall said. “How much trouble you figure we’re gonna be in for this?”

 

“Today is our last day in the program. We’re graduating at the top of our class. We’re headed to 1D tomorrow in the bloody Scottish highlands. If there was ever a time to leave our mark, its now.”

 

“Your funeral. And mine too, I guess. You know…till the end and all. Might as well, yeah?” Niall sighed comically.

 

“Might as well,” Harry parroted right before his plane went screaming past the tower, sending everything inside shaking in its wake.

 

Yes. Harry Styles fucking loved his job.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Harry stood outside his captain’s office with a bored looking Niall at his side as they listened to the tower commander absolutely losing his shit over their little stunt not even fifteen minutes prior. In retrospect, the whole tower escapade was probably not Harry’s smartest move. But what could he say? He was feeling a bit nostalgic as their time here came to a close. Pilots sure as shite didn’t cry, so wreaking a little havoc was really the only acceptable way to convey to his superiors just how much he was going to miss them. Apparently not everyone had been able to translate that message.

 

“Two of your sodding muppet faced sky monkeys just did a fly-by on my tower at over 400 knots!” the commander hollered, and Harry didn’t even need to see him to know that his head was dangerously close to exploding…spittle flying, veins throbbing, and face puce. Harry and Niall had been gifted with the pleasure of seeing it numerous times over the past year in the program.

 

Niall snorted quietly beside Harry. “Sky monkeys? That’s a new one. The muppet face must be referring to you, though.”

 

“Oh shut up, Craic. You’re the reason we’re in this mess to begin with,” Harry told him. He didn’t really look like a muppet, did he? Well…maybe that brown dog one, Rowlf was it? It must be his flowing brown curls, currently tied back in a sweaty bandana with the Union Jack patterned into it.

 

Niall’s eyebrows shot up to his blonde hairline as his ice blue eyes went wide. “Are you - are you bloody _serious_? As I recall, you were the one that called in the request and then proceeded to fuckin’ ignore its dismissal and do as you damn well pleased. I didn’t have my hand on the throttle, mate. I’m just your RIO. I’m just there for moral support.”

 

“Every pilot knows that when something goes wrong you always blame it on the RIO. God, Craic, don’t you know anything?”

 

Niall’s fiery Irish temper rose quickly to the surface, making Harry smile at how easy it was to get a rise out of him. “I will skin you, dismember you, and then paint Georgia Rose with your blood. And after I’ve thrown whatever’s left of your remains out into the ocean for shark bait, I assure you I will have no problem wooing another pilot to take your place. Maybe this time I’ll get one who actually listens to me every once in a great bloody moon.”

 

“You will not lay a single grubby finger on my aircraft, Horan,” Harry replied, nose high in the air. “Georgia Rose is my soulmate, even more beloved to me than you. Only I know what she likes…how she needs to be touched, coaxed, and pampered. When you find a great woman like that, you better show some damn respect or you’ll find yourself paddling in the Atlantic while a rescue helo fishes you out of the drink. She hasn’t let me down yet.”

 

Niall groaned and rolled his eyes. “Jesus, we really need to get you laid. That goes top of our priority list once we get to Scotland. This thing with your bloody aircraft is starting to really concern me, mate. Besides, last time I checked, you didn’t even swing that way…leave the lady pleasin’ to us all-stars, ya cock hound.”

 

“I am insulted by that name…and very happy your suggestions that it be my call sign were overruled.”

 

Niall gave him a shit-eating grin. “Tragic, that. It wasn’t even the best one on my list. Bum Bandit, Goolie Grabber, Willy Nilly…”

 

“I’ll stick with Sparrow, thank you,” Harry said with distaste. Yes, he really was lucky Niall had been too off his face the night they were given their call signs so he couldn’t put forth any of his front runners. He had lost a bet to Niall that night and the terms were to get his call sign tattooed. He was very pleased with the pair of pretty birds on his collarbones, as opposed to what would have likely been some type of grotesque depiction of male genitalia.

 

“I still think Bum Bandit had promise, but alas…t’was not to be,” Niall sighed.

 

The loud voice of the commander interrupted their little back and forth. “I want somebody’s arse! I want it now! I’ve had it!”

 

Harry and Niall both snapped to attention, still in their flight suits, as the furious commander stalked out of the office with coffee stains down the front of his stuffy beige uniform. He proceeded to subsequently broadside a poor office secretary bustling down the hallway on coffee duty, sending her tray and all its hot, steaming contents right down the front of him, only adding to his stains.

 

“Aaaaaaarrrrrggghhh!” he screamed as the coffee dripped down onto the floor in a puddle. Harry and Niall both watched with wide eyes, not daring to say a word, “That’s twice! I want arses!”

 

He tore down the hallway, leaving the poor woman to clean up the mess behind him. Harry instantly stooped to help with a sheepish smile for the woman.

 

Niall just stood where he was. “Seems you’re not the only one who’s call sign shoulda been Bum Bandit,” he commented, watching the man’s retreating frame.

 

Their captain slowly exited his office, shaking his head at the mess in front of him. Once Harry saw his shiny shoes in his view from the ground, he snapped up again and broadened his chest, at immediate attention.

 

“Well, I think that covers fly-bys. Walk with me,” Captain Collins said.

 

Without waiting to see if they would obey - there was really no question that they would - he marched down the hallway toward the flight observation deck. Harry and Niall followed a few paces behind, unsure what was about to transpire.

 

When they got to the deck, Captain Collins stood at the wide windows overlooking the airstrip with his hands drawn together behind his back. He let them all stand in silence for a few painfully uncomfortable moments before he spoke.

 

“The pair of you have been a pain in my arse since you first stepped foot on this base. I cannot deny that you are one of the very best teams to ever leave this program, but antics like what you pulled today cloud that success and devalue what you can do up there. Against many of our instructors’ judgements, you were selected for 1D. Their program is taking a huge risk with you, and I promise you that they will not be as accommodating as we’ve been here. You fuck up…even just once…even just _consider_ fucking up once…and you will be gone. Let this be your last and only warning. I would hate to see you fail for being bloody idiots when this country really needs great pilots like you. The selection committee at 1D sees your potential despite the bullshit. Don’t let them down. Don’t let me down. And, Harry…don’t let your father down. He would have been so proud of what you are about to do. It would have been his greatest joy to see you attend 1D. You owe it to yourself - and to him - to make the most of this opportunity. Because it won’t come again.”

 

Harry nodded soberly, looking down at his feet as he let the memory of his father well up inside him. People in this small world of theirs didn’t often mention his father, at least not so directly. Most of the details were classified anyway, so there wasn’t really much one could say. Harry himself didn’t even know the full story about how the great Captain Edward Styles mysteriously disappeared a few years ago on a top secret mission, never to be hear from again - both plane and pilot thought to be lost at sea.

 

Before Harry could get too emotional over the white, hot poker of grief plunging between his ribs, Niall gently reached down and wrapped a comforting hand around his wrist, squeezing once. Harry quickly shot him an appreciative glance before he trained his eyes back up again and out at the airstrip. An F-22 was speeding down the runway, fire from the engine tailing behind as it took off into the sky. There was never a better feeling than that single moment of burning anticipation idling on the runway waiting for a chance to play in the clouds. That had always been the thing that kept Harry coming back for more…that feeling had always been fueling him ever since Dad had taken him up in a plane that first time.

 

“Yes, sir,” he breathed, nodding once and lifting his hand in a salute.

 

“Good. Now get out of your flight suits and into something more presentable. Graduation ceremony is at 1800. Don’t be late.”

 

Captain Collins stalked from the room and left Harry and Niall standing at the windows. Harry bit his lip and looked over at his RIO. Niall was watching him - as he always was - waiting for his cue.

“Well. Let’s go, then," Harry sighed. "Got trophies to collect and all. I suspect they’ve already shined yours up - _Most Likely to Eat His Own Body Weight in Nandos_.”

 

Niall’s wary expression instantly brightened. “Hm. Yes I do think I’ve earned that one. And for you, _Most Likely to Rock a Gold Thong Under His Flight Suit_.”

 

Harry grumbled, “That was one time, and because of a bet I made with you, might I add.”

 

“Taught ya not to bet against me liver, it did. Fifteen pints is nothing, mate.”

 

“After that night, I’m convinced your blood is half alcoholic content. You’re probably flammable by now.”

 

Niall just graced him with an amused expression. “Best to keep up that fancy flying then, yeah? Keep me combustible Irish blood safe.”

 

Harry slung an arm around his shoulders. “Always, Craic. Always.”

 

They made their way down the long hallway to the locker rooms, but before they entered into the cheering and celebrations of the other pilots in their graduating class, Niall pulled him aside. That same guarded look from the flight deck crossed his usually sunny face.

 

“Hey. Harry. You okay, mate? Seriously?”

 

Harry looked down at the ground, considering his answer. Niall wasn’t asking this as his RIO. He wasn’t asking this as a brother in arms. He was asking as a friend.

 

Harry let the sudden swell of emotions calm before he found his voice. He pushed down the thoughts of that horrible, horrible day six years ago when he watched from the window as a somber trio in military dress walked up his mother’s front path with a folded flag in hand.

 

When his eyes arose to meet Niall’s, he gave him half a smile - it was the best he could offer while his mind was still so deep in the past. “Yea, Ni. I’m good.”

 

Niall understood. He always did. This was the only thing they didn’t share. It was Harry’s burden to shoulder, and he would do it on his own.

 

“Aye. Let’s get into our whites, then. Lord knows they do better things for me arse than these fuckin’ potato sacks,” he said, yanking at his loose flight suit with a disdainful hand.

 

“Hey. I rather like that arse. Keeps mine safe up there. It deserves a bit more respect.” Harry gave Niall's bum a friendly pat. Niall knew the cheeky attempt was with great effort on Harry’s part, so he laughed all the louder to accommodate.

 

“Oi! Right you are, Sparrow. Right you fuckin’ are. Deserves another trophy, I think. Let’s see if the damn instructors are in agreement. _Best Arse in the Navy_ on a big silver plaque.”

 

Four hours later they crossed the stage in their pristine dress uniforms with numerous trophies in arm for their superior flying over the course of the program - unfortunately none commending Niall’s back side or digestive system. But it still felt good. It still felt fucking incredible to know that Lt. Harry Styles’ name would now be etched in eternal memory on plaques and trophies that would line the walls of this school right alongside ones that had been won many years ago by another carrying his surname. He was upholding a legacy, and he knew he wanted to keep doing it at the next level too. He wanted to keep pushing, keep clawing his way to the top. He wanted to do all the things his father had done, and then all the things he had yet to do before his chances had been ripped away from him. Because maybe, just maybe, if Harry got up high enough in the ranks - finally trusted with the most highly guarded secrets of this insular little world - someone would be able to tell him what happened six years ago. Someone would finally be able to tell him how one fleeting moment up in that damned sky that he both loved and loathed in equal measure could change the entire course of a life here on the ground.

 

“Premier Delta, baby! Here we come!” Niall hollered over his first of many pints of Guinness. Harry smiled at Niall and clinked his own against Niall’s overflowing glass, sloshing sticky amber drink all over the table at the pub where he and the rest of the class were celebrating their release into the world of naval aviation.

 

“Here’s to the fucking dream, Craic. We’re going to rule the clouds. And we’re going to own the wind.”

 

“Legend!”

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Miles of green extended beneath them as they flew over the Scottish highlands, roughened by jagged stone and bordered by even rougher waters. Here it was nothing but land, sky and sea, separated precisely by the horizon as if brushed by a single line on a painting. Blue on top of green like oil on top of water. It was pure unadulterated promise. It was going to be home…and it was going to be the place where Harry finally took the last steps into his father’s shoes.

 

The words that Captain Collins had spoken on the observation deck played again in Harry’s mind as he eagerly awaited their touch down into base. They repeated on a loop, grounding him and reminding him the reason he was here. Sometimes he felt like every time he got up in the sky something was flying like a shadow beside him, perched on his wing and always watching. Like a Hawk. It pushed him, but there were times it also paralyzed him. He didn’t want this to be one of those times.

 

Beside him, Niall slumbered peacefully with his head resting heavily on Harry’s shoulder, working off his hangover from last night’s graduation celebration - and the endless supply of Guinness that Harry had witnessed him drain. His mouth was wide open, and a dribble of spit was slowly extending down the side of his chin. His snores were the only sound interrupting the peace and quiet of the cabin. Harry smiled fondly down at Niall and carefully readjusted his head so that it rested more comfortably on his shoulder. Niall immediately nuzzled into the fur lined collar of Harry’s patch-covered, leather flight jacket like a kitten, knocking his dark aviators crooked on the bridge of his nose.

 

“We’re going to do this right, Niall. I promise,” Harry murmured, earning an unconscious snuffle in reply from Niall. Harry directed his attention back out the window and looked down at the ground as it steadily approached. “And I won’t let you down, Dad. I’m doing this for you.”

 

He fiddled with the paper airplane resting against his chest with his tags, feeling its cool edges with his fingers. Harry still vividly remembered the day his father had given it to him right before he had gone off for that tour on the HMS Marie. It had been his last.

 

“ _Remember, son_ ,” his Dad had said, “ _Falling in love with the sky is foolish. You fall in love with what keeps you here. On the ground. You take care of this for me, that way you’ll always have a little bit of sky with you, and I’ll always have a little bit of solid ground to keep me coming home._ ”

 

Except he hadn’t.

 

“Attention. Please fasten your seat belts. We’re making our final descent into Fort Acaiseid.”

 

Harry could just barely make out the small signs of life against the coast - a smattering of buildings that were tough enough to stand the constant beating of the wind and waves from the raging sea. Fort Acaiseid was just outside the small city of Thurso, the farthest northern point on the Scottish isle. The base itself was small, but its access to the sea, both as a port for the western world and Europe, made it a desirable location for Premier Delta.

 

Harry squinted his eyes and was able to see the airstrips of the fort in the distance, so tiny from way up in the sky. He smiled to himself, already imagining Georgia Rose screaming down those runways and up into this beautiful Scottish sky.

 

“Craic, wake up,” Harry said, shaking his shoulder gently. Niall let out a snort, more drool seeping from his gaping mouth.

 

“Whaazaa?” Niall moaned, eyes still closed behind his sunglasses.

 

“We’re here,” Harry beamed.

 

Harry's legs jittered and his fingers curled in the leather of his jacket, aching to grab hold of a yoke and spin himself silly. The closer they got to the base, the more he could feel a sense of purpose spreading in his chest. This was it. He was meant to be here. His father had been here, right down there walking the streets of that little village and flying in the sky above it, and now Harry was finally going to get to share one of the most sacred pieces of his life. Harry had always found himself enraptured by the tales his father had told him about the wild Scottish highlands and the precious flight school nestled against the sea.

 

God, he was really doing this. He was really here.

 

Niall blinked an eye open and took in Harry’s blatant excitement. “Oi. Look at them dimples. Already this whole Scottish thing is doing you good, eh?”

 

“You’re not excited?” Harry pouted.

 

“O’ course I am, Sparrow. Don’t be a tit. I would be a whole hell of a lot more excited ‘bout the whole thing if me head wasn’t banging like a military drum line.”

 

“Your own fault,” Harry reminded, although that wasn’t exactly true when Harry himself had been plying Niall with alcohol the whole previous night. RIOs should never have to pay for their own drinks, in Harry’s opinion - RIOs and attractive gentleman with great arses, that was.

 

“So what’s on the agenda for today, Lieutenant Limp Dick?” Niall countered. Another name Harry was happy hadn’t ended up as his call sign.

 

“Getting set up at our lodging, then meeting the team at 1200. We’ve got some preliminary introductory briefs with instructors afterwards. After that, as far as I know, the time is ours. Training doesn’t officially start until tomorrow at 0900. Tonight’s probably the only free time we’ll have for the next six weeks.”

 

“So we best make it count,” Niall stated as if he wasn’t still feeling the effects of last night’s merriment. “It will be sick meetin’ the rest of the pilots, yeah? Can’t wait to see who our biggest competition is going to be.”

 

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Its not a competition. We’re all playing for the same team now, Craic.”

 

“Ah! Barmy. They still give us rankings, right? Then they want us to compete. We’ve always been number one, Sparrow. We’ve always fought our way to that spot. Don’t go gettin’ soft on me just ‘cuz this place gets ya sentimental.”

 

Instantly Niall bit his lip knowing he had probably stepped over that invisible line. Normally he toe’d it better.

 

Before Harry could reply, Niall fumbled on to cover the slip. “All I’m sayin’ is that we are going to kick arse out there. And don’t you forget it. Got it?"

 

Harry patted Niall’s knee. “Loud and clear, over.”

 

Niall winked at him. “So my sources say that there’s this great little pub down on Murray Lane in Thurso. We should round up the other lads and have a proper kick off tonight.”

 

“How do you already have _sources_? We haven’t even touched down yet.”

 

Niall just rolled his eyes. “Like I always tell you, stick with the pilot shit and leave the rest to me. I’ve got ya, mate.”

 

Harry just shrugged, receiving a fist bump from his RIO. He would let Niall lead him into the deepest pits of hell, if he was honest. He voiced as much to a cackling laugh in reply.

 

“Great balls of fire!” Niall sang, shoving Harry over in his seat to get a better view as they descended down through the clouds and landed at Fort Acaiseid.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter...meeting the competition!
> 
> *Update: If you've seen the art for this fic on my Tumblr, the manips of Louis and Harry were made by the lovely @nasalouis. The one of Niall is ACTUALLY REAL because that little shit really wore that costume to make me (and everyone) suffer. So beautiful! Heart eyes. So many aviators, so much brooding beauty, oh my god. Take me to the 80's. Between that and the Top Gun soundtrack on endless loop, this thing is going to write itself. 
> 
> As always, comments are welcome (and very much appreciated!).
> 
> Feel free to come say hello on Tumblr (RealityBetterThanFiction)!
> 
> Cheers!


	2. Premier Delta - RNAS Fort Acaiseid (Thurso, Scotland)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys meet the other lads in the 1D flight class, and Harry makes a very important bet with Niall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See if you can spot where I came up with the call signs. ;-)
> 
> Note: While Thurso is a real place, Fort Acaiseid is not. I have not been to Scotland so my only knowledge of it is what I've gleaned from Google Images. But hey, creative license and all, right? If you're from Scotland, please don't hate me for any inaccuracies. Your country looks beautiful!
> 
> I'm opting for shorter updates so I can get them to you quicker. Enjoy!
> 
> Mood Music --> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HDi7qOhECW8  
> You've Lost That Loving Feeling - Righteous Brothers

Harry had a hard time imagining a place less likely to provide home to the UK’s most elite flight school. Thurso, Scotland was little more than a blip on the map, a remote and isolated little sea village that would be a ghost town if it wasn’t for the regular flow of hot-shot fly boys pumping into the area to boost local business. It was nothing like in Cornwall at the RNAS Culdrose. There, the sleek buildings of the base and the surrounding bars and restaurants catered to the military men, the place to be for the young, eligible and desperate looking to hook a Naval officer. Harry had always felt lost there, just one among many wearing a patch covered bomber jacket and a pair of aviators. 

 

This place, however, was the polar opposite. Thurso felt like home. The cobblestone streets, weather-worn cottage style houses, and general sense of old world character welcomed all, not just those with a rank in front of their name. It didn’t have much to offer in the way of entertainment - probably a good thing, really, considering the rigor of 1D’s program - but the amenities it did have were quaint and warm, giving the impression that they had been there for as long as this little town had been around. Harry and Niall were currently stationed at one such establishment with the rest of the new 1D recruits, the only local pub in town per Niall’s _sources_. It was small and stuffy with sticky floors and a heavily scratched wooden bar that had seen better days about a century ago, but it had a functioning juke box and a bottomless supply of Guinness, so it did the job just fine. For a Sunday night, it was completely jammed from wall to wall. It seemed that everyone in town was eager to welcome the new class of the Navy’s finest airmen. Harry absolutely loved everything about this place.

 

“To flying with a hangover tomorrow! Let’s hope our pilots take it easy with the barrel rolls or we’ll be tossing our cookies all over the cabin,” Niall announced, raising his freshly poured pint to the rest of the pilots seated with him at the end of the bar. A raucous cheer went up around him as he finished the entire pint in ten seconds flat. Niall had been in Thurso for about eight hours now and was already a local hero, holding court at the bar. Let Niall loose in a room full of people, and in no time he would be privy to everyone’s deepest, darkest secrets. Already he was working on figuring out the inner workings of their recruit class, and judging by the number of them that were orbiting Niall like he had his own gravitational field, he was doing a damn good job of it. He probably missed his true calling in the military - he would have been a bloody ace interrogator. Harry attributed Niall's way with people to his baby blues, shock of sunny hair and ever present grin. Niall attributed it to his Irish charm and frighteningly high alcohol tolerance. He could out drink a fish, and alway claimed that people were more willing to divulge their demons when under the influence. Niall just stayed sober long enough to listen. Tonight, though, Harry was a little worried that Niall’s sobriety was quickly reaching the point of no return.

 

Harry gave his RIO a stern glare and swore to himself that he would fly Georgia Rose upside down for their entire first hop tomorrow if Niall so much as hinted at being hungover. 

 

“And here I was worried about you being a wallflower,” Harry muttered.

 

Niall winked at him with mildly bloodshot eyes. “Oi. Lighten up, Lieutenant Love Handles. We’re just sampling the local culture.” He looked down at his empty glass with wide, tragic eyes, and then looked to Harry. “Hey, RIOs don’t pay, right? Those are your rules? Looks like I’m in need of a little more culture. Be a mate?”

 

Harry shook his head but was powerless to resist when Niall’s bottom lip pouted out like it was currently doing. He really needed to get better at telling Niall, “ _No._ ” The lad would be incorrigible if Harry always indulged his every whim. Tonight, sadly, was not the night to start that little war of wills. Harry didn’t have the heart to end Niall’s bid as the next King of Scotland.

 

With a heaving sigh, Harry grabbed the empty pint from Niall’s clammy hands and peeled off from his RIO’s side to see about a refill.

 

Harry took the time away from Niall to survey the bar. Most of the patrons that weren’t wearing spiffy white Navy uniforms were significantly older - a colorful amalgam of hardened working type people. Bad teeth, well worn clothing, and the acute aroma of fish met Harry wherever he stepped. But everyone was smiling and raising their glasses to him as he passed. He’d already shaken countless hands tonight, providing his call sign as means of introduction. 

 

Harry sat the empty pint glass down on the bar by the bustling bartender and patiently waited his turn for service. In the mean time, he enjoyed the classic rock pumping from the juke box and indulged in a little bit of harmless people watching. As his eyes glided across his surroundings, they caught on something out of place as if guided by a radar beacon.

 

A man at the far end of the bar instantly pulled Harry’s attention, and everything else in the room just seemed to fall away. It wasn’t his young age that set him apart, or the perfectly proportioned bone structure of his face, or even the trendy style of his clothing, so different than the overalls and wellies in which most of the other patrons were attired. The man's head was thrown back in an uproarious laugh at something the woman at his side had just said, a sudden burst of happiness that crinkled the corners of his eyes and scrunched his nose. While striking enough, it wasn’t any of those things that had Harry gaping at the man like a complete and total knob. It was something else. Something Harry couldn’t quite identify. He was just brighter. More vibrant. More _alive_. The longer Harry watched, the more he found it impossible to look anywhere else.

 

Then the man turned his head and got a clear radar lock on Harry’s dopey expression. _Fuck!_

 

“What are you having?” the bartender asked, probably not for the first time, ripping Harry right out of his moment of stupefied panic. Harry swung his head away from the direction of the smirking man he had been shamelessly eyeing and muttered out what he hoped was an intelligible request for more alcohol. The bartender looked over at where Harry’s eyes had been stationed and just shook his head in amusement.

 

“Here’s a Guinness for your fair haired friend making an arse of himself at the end of the bar, and here’s a little something for you. You’ll need it, trust me. On the house. Welcome to Thurso. Hope it treats you well.” The bartender gave him a knowing smile and slid forth a frothy pint and a shot of what Harry strongly suspected to be whiskey. Harry downed the shot instantly, murmuring his thanks before scurrying off without looking back. He needed to get a bloody hold of himself.

 

In his haste, Harry stumbled over the empty bar stool next to Niall that had been left open for him.

 

“Oi! Don’t spill my precious life force!” Niall chided, quickly recovering the pint from Harry before it became another tragic victim to Harry’s inherent clumsiness.

 

“I hope you bloody enjoy that pint,” Harry muttered. “Almost made a proper arse of myself getting it.”

 

“If ya aren’t makin’ an arse of yourself, you’re not doing life right. Here. Another for ya to speed up the process,” Niall offered, pushing another shot of whiskey in Harry’s direction. He took it without complaint. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about! Get that down ya. We’re gonna have a good time, Sparrow.”

 

“Always,” Harry answered with a grimace at the biting taste of the whiskey. 

 

Once the other pilots around them scattered to chat up the short supply of pretty birds in attendance tonight, Harry leaned in closer to Niall. “So what intel have you gathered, oh wise one?” he asked quietly - as quietly as he could over the still blaring music.

 

“Good lads, the lot of them. You see that pair having a nice little chinwag with those dames by the juke box? The tall, thin one with the abominable quiff is Nick Grimshaw, or Reaper as he’s known. His RIO is on his right, Greg James, call sign Wrecker. They just got done with a deployment in Germany. Wrecker claims the beer there is ace, and the women are even better. Maybe _we_ should take a tour in Deutschland after this, ya?”

 

Harry scoffed, seeing how that would only benefit one out of the pair of them. “What about them?” Harry asked, nodding his head in the direction of the two Navy men trying to secure a spot at the rickety pool table in the corner.

 

“That’s Andrew 'Spider' Garfield and his RIO Ed 'Ginger' Sheeran. Clearly I don’t need to tell ya which is which given that hair. Looks like a bloody tomato jizzed on the poor lad’s head. Nice blokes, though, seem pretty shocked they were selected for 1D, but I’ve heard good things about ‘em before. They went through Culdrose the year before we graduated. And Ginger’s pretty handy with a guitar too, so he’s alright in my book.”

 

“So that leaves…” Harry said, scanning for the other two pairings in their class.

 

“Quatro and his RIO Romeo, or Theo James and Douglas Booth,” Niall provided, watching the pair of lads surrounded by women of all ages on the dance floor, looking more like they were posing than actually dancing. “They’re just handsome fellas, ain’t they? Not too sure about their flying, but I figure the Navy’s gotta supply _some_ competition for us, right? Wouldn’t be fair for Styles and Horan to get top spot at 1D _and_ be the sexiest ones doing it.”

 

“Spread the love,” Harry agreed. And he certainly did agree about Quatro and Romeo. Good looking blokes, they were. But tragically straight as arrows, if Harry’s gaydar was still fully functioning on foreign soil.

 

“And the last pair?” Harry asked, turning to look at the only other pilots in the room.

 

“That’s them,” Niall provided over the rim of his pint, inclining his head at the pair of men sitting close together away from the rest of the pack. Harry had met all the other pilots throughout the course of the day during move-in and preliminary meetings, but he had yet to meet those two. In fact, the pair hadn’t really interacted much with _anyone_ else all day aside from one another. Harry couldn’t tell if it was ego or insecurity that kept them at a distance. “That’s our competition,” Niall added. So probably the first, Harry figured.

 

Harry’s gaydar was off the charts looking at them. All the signs were there in the subtle way they interacted with one another. There was definitely something going on under the surface.

 

“Allow me to introduce you to Liam Payne, or Chevron, and his bloody gorgeous RIO Zayn Malik, called Pak-Man. I’m comfortable enough in me sexuality to admit that I’ve got a serious man crush on that RIO. Wouldn’t even blame ya if ya dumped me for him, mate…that is if you could pry the two of them apart. Payne’s a fucking force up there - he’d put the infamous Iceman to shame - and Malik is a mind-reader - swear to shit he’s a warlock or something, real Harry Potter crap. We’re gonna have to watch our arses up there with them, Sparrow.”

 

Harry could already tell what Niall said was inarguably true. Payne and Malik moved together like magnets, extensions of the same brain. One moved, and the other did too as if connected by the same puppeteer’s strings. They communicated through wordless glances and gestures, so scarily in tune with one another that Harry wondered if they were some type of modern medical marvel, conjoined twins separated at birth. It was like looking at mirror images…if mirrors could produce two such opposing reflections. They couldn’t be more physically different, was the thing. Where Payne was all muscles and broad shoulders, Malik was lithe and angular. Payne was the typical bloke next door with his lantern jaw and dashing smile, and Malik was exotic, sporting tanned skin and an even more unique collection of dark tattoos down his arms. Payne’s sandy blonde hair was trimmed into a severe military cut, while Malik’s dark locks were left flowing and wild in a type of faux-hawk that would be pretentiously hipster if it weren’t paired with the rest of him. The only thing that was really the same about them was the matching look of adoration in their eyes whenever they looked at each other.

 

Yep. These two were _definitely_ an item. And Harry was _definitely_ jealous.

 

“Jesus,” Harry breathed, processing overload.

 

“Yeah. It’s going to take some desensitization around them boys. Too much attractive male in one codependent package, huh? I guess it’s a good thing you’ve already got your distraction picked out then, huh?”

 

“Hm?” Harry was still too busy staring at the intriguing pair across the bar to register what Niall was saying. 

 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” Niall scoffed, smacking him on the shoulder. “I’m your eyes, remember? I see everything.”

 

Harry snapped back into the conversation with his RIO. “What are you on about?”

 

Niall groaned. “We’re playin’ it like that, are we?”

 

Harry folded his arms across his chest. “It’s not a game,” Harry told him, voice witheringly posh.

 

Niall ignored him. “The bet is 20 quid.”

 

Harry was quick to shake his head, “No, Craic, not this again! Last time…”

 

“ _The bet_ …” Niall pressed on, talking right over Harry’s protests, “…is carnal knowledge of a bloke - and no, before you ask, your bloody plane doesn’t count. It’s got to be a living, breathing bloke with all his bits attached, and you must acquire said knowledge by the end of the night while still on the premises. Those are the terms.”

 

Harry glared at Niall, silently vowing to make tomorrow’s hop the most vomit-inducing ride of the RIO’s life.

 

“Great! Now let’s see…who shall we choose?” Niall put his pint down and clamped his hands together in concentration as he surveyed the prospects. Harry already knew exactly where Niall’s eyes were going before they even landed there…because his eyes had been drawn to the very same place.

 

“Him,” Niall said with a smirk. “The one you were mentally undressing when you went to get me the pint. I’m really doing you a favor here, picking him. Bloody great wingman, I am. He’s probably the only bloke in this establishment with an arse that rivals this perfect little peach right here,” Niall offered, patting his own bottom.

 

Harry didn’t need Niall to point out the man’s most enviable asset. Harry was very well aware of the absolutely out of this world derriere that the beautiful man across the bar possessed. Harry’s eyes had been splitting time between the lad’s cheekbones and his arse in equal measure. He wasn’t sure which one he wanted to get his hands on first.

 

“So we’ll play it like usual, right?” Niall offered. “Juke box probably has it out of pure irony. _Bum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Dum,_ ” Niall said, tapping out the beat on his chest.

 

Instantly Harry was shaking his head in panic. “No! No no no no, Craic. We are absolutely _not_ convincing a bar of complete strangers to sing along to a cheesy 80’s song just so I can get in some lad’s pants! Besides, that has _never_ been our usual play! Stop living your life off that god-damned script!”

 

“Hey! If it worked for Tom Cruise - praise our dearly beloved’s name - it will work for you. You’ve got a better arse on ya than him and a crackin’ pair of legs to boot. Don’t know a single fella in here who hasn’t at least checked you out once. Again, got to thank the Brits for these uniforms. Do wonders for our figures, eh?”

 

“Damn-it, Horan. I will not be bullied into this. If I take this bet and chat him up, can I do it without having to put on a bloody talent show?”

 

“Jesus…fine, fine,” Niall finally said, rolling his eyes heavily. “But if you crash and burn, don’t come cryin’ to me to put out the flames.”

 

“I’m just going to _talk_ to him. That’s it,” Harry said sternly.

 

“Sure ya are. Just a little tête-à-tête…with your dicks.”

 

Harry threw his hands up. “Fuck’s sake. I’m going already, okay? Just…stop.”

 

Niall slapped him firmly on the ass as he walked away. “Go get ‘em, Bum Bandit!”

 

Harry muttered to himself about all the wonderfully creative ways he was planning to pay Niall back for his insolence the entire way across the bar. Without even needing to think, his feet steered him in the right direction toward where his target for the evening was still chatting with the pretty brunette girl. Just as Harry was about to approach, the girl leaned up and kissed the man on the cheek to say her goodbyes, but not before shooting Harry a curious look over the man’s shoulder. She sauntered off and Harry figured this was as good a time as any to make the first move.

 

Just as Harry reached his hand out to tap the beautiful lad on the shoulder, the opening chords to “ _You’ve Lost that Loving Feeling_ ” began playing from the juke box. Harry turned toward the source of the offending sound, where he knew without doubt his RIO would also be found. He shot Niall a venomous scowl and was met with a cackling laugh that could be heard all the way across the bar.

 

“Never trust a bloody leprechaun. I’ll tell you that much,” Harry hissed under his breath.

 

“Sorry?” a smooth voice asked from behind him, much closer than he had previously thought. Harry spun around swiftly and proceeded to knock the pint of beer right out of the speaker’s hand.

 

“Oops!” Harry squeaked, hands immediately shooting up to cover his mouth. _Really?_ What self-respecting pilot in the British Navy said ‘ _oops_ ’…and in a pitch so high only dogs could hear, no less. _Great Sparrow, real slick_. He could do nothing but stare blankly as beer spilled all over the floor between their shoes. Even Harry’s impeccably bred manners couldn’t make him move to retrieve the glass. He couldn’t do anything aside from gape with his mouth wide open catching flies. So far this was the most epic fail of all time, and it had only been about five seconds. _Crash and burn, crash and burn, crash and burn._

 

“Hi,” said the handsome man with a now empty hand. Harry was pretty sure he just suffered a heart attack at that single word.

 

Before Harry could formulate any kind of physical or verbal response to that heart-stopping introduction, Mr. Beautiful Stranger furrowed his  eyebrows. “Is that…is that the song from…”

 

Harry’s head instantly ducked, face coloring pink. Niall deserved to die. Harry was going to kill Niall. “Coincidence?” Harry tried with a sheepish smile, looking up through his lashes.

 

And then the best thing ever happened. Mr. Perfect Brows laughed - that same unrestrained, glorious laugh that had first made Harry stop and stare - and it was because of something Harry had said about that stupid fucking song. Niall deserved to be sainted. Harry was going to kiss Niall.

 

“Unless you plan on serenading me, take a seat. You owe me a drink,” Mr. Lovely Laugh said, gesturing to the now vacated seat next to him. Harry slid into it as gracefully as he was able while his brain sputtered on idle.

 

The bartender from before came up to them and just shook his head at Harry. “Was wondering how long it would take you to make your way over here. They always do,” the barkeep commented airily.

 

Mr. Ace Arse just tapped the bar with two delicate, thin fingers and was immediately given another of what he had been drinking before. He thanked the bartender by name with a shared smile. Before the bartender left, another shot of whiskey was placed in front of Harry. Harry was going to be regretting everything about this night come tomorrow morning. There was no question about that.

 

“It’s not Halloween, so I’m assuming this get-up you’ve got going on isn’t just a hokey costume to pick up some company for the night, hm?” Mr. Hand Model said, arching one of those damn eyebrows that would likely be the death of Harry. Harry couldn’t be sure, but he could have sworn he was being given a subtle once-over under that raised brow.

 

“Pilot. I’m…I’m a pilot.” Good, yes, English. Harry was speaking English. Thank God for that.

 

“No. I don’t believe you for a second. With those legs?” So he _had_ noticed. “How do you fit those giant, giraffe limbs in the cockpit?”

 

With a surge of confidence at the compliment - _was_ it a compliment? Giraffes were well loved members of the animal kingdom, right? - Harry cleared his throat and leaned in just a hint closer to Mr. Long Limb Lover. The curve of the his brow matched that of his smirk. 

 

Okay. Now was his chance. Go big or go home. “I’m good at fitting things into tight spaces,” Harry said with a smirk of his own, popping a dimple for good measure.

 

That earned another loud laugh, and Harry was positively preening. “Who says you’re the only one with that talent?” Mr. Not So Subtle said.

 

Harry nearly fainted as all the blood in his body rushed south.

 

“So what’s your name, casanova?” Mr. Clever Nicknames asked, leaning back from Harry. It gave Harry just enough space to recover brain function in its severely under oxygenated state before he was diving back into the deep. Harry boldly leaned in again.

 

“Sparrow - it’s my call sign,” Harry told him, observing the casual flick of a wrist as the toffee colored fringe was brushed out of his eyes. Harry would very much like to know what other types of things that wrist could flick.

 

“Mmm. And your blonde friend? The one making lewd gestures behind you right now? Am I to assume he’s your wingman?”

 

Harry turned around and leveled his RIO a fiery look when he saw the primary school hand signals Niall was doing with a finger going through a circle made by his opposite thumb and first finger.

 

“That is unfortunately my RIO, Craic. At least for now. He may not be alive come tomorrow if I have any say in it.”

 

It earned Harry an airy chuckle. “The song was a great move, though. Give him a little credit, yeah?”

 

Harry blinked back at him, too caught up in the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a sip of his beer. 

 

“Let’s just cut the formalities, shall we? I’ve got a personal question for you,” Mr. Neck Made for Lovebites stated, hands splaying down on the bar.

 

_Yes_ , was Harry’s immediate answer. _Yes, I will take you home, shag the absolute hell out of you, and then afterward I’ll marry you and have a zillion babies with you as we grow old together, hopelessly in love, until death do us part. Can we get started on all of that now, please?_

 

“I like personal questions,” Harry stuttered, eyes wide.

 

“In that case…tell me, Sparrow…are you a good pilot?” Mr. Future Spouse asked, smirking at Harry.

 

Harry gulped. “Um. I can hold my own.”

 

“Grand. Then I won’t have to worry about you making your living as a footie player with those gangly legs. Like a newborn baby Bambi, I reckon.” Mr. Football Fanatic patted Harry’s thigh fondly and Harry felt himself twitching under the too-tight white pants. God, could he be anymore of a teenager? At this rate, Harry was already going to have to go back to their little cottage and wank himself stupid. Niall was never going to let him hear the end of it.

 

“Legs are over rated,” Harry tried. “I’m much better with my hands, anyhow.”

 

Another smirk. “Is that a euphemism?”

  
Harry shrugged and blushed beet red at the thought of what he would very much like to do with his hands right now. Instead of that, his nervous fingers instantly went up to fiddle with his dog tags, quickly finding the paper plane pendant. Mr. Blatant Innuendos followed Harry’s movement with his sharp eyes.

 

“Nice necklace,” he commented. Harry was going to thank him, but the sudden frown on his face stopped the words on Harry’s tongue. Harry didn’t like that look. Not at all. Harry felt like his body had been plunged in a vat of icy water to match the cold expression in those steely eyes now watching him with reservation.

 

“Erm. My dog tags?” Harry paused for a second, unsure what was so offensive about the small, metal identifiers he had worn without fail ever since he first enlisted. He barely even noticed them anymore, just as much a piece of him as his curly locks. “You okay?” Harry asked, hand uncontrollably reaching out to see if the man felt as cold as he looked.

 

Before Harry’s hand could find purchase, the man was up off his seat, leaving a half full pint behind right next to Harry’s shattered hopes. 

 

“No. Yea. I’m…I’m peachy. Just reminded me I’ve gotta split. Early work tomorrow and all. Thanks again for the song, mate, although Kelly McGillis makes a much better serenade subject.”

 

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Harry said quietly - a futile effort since it was clear this evening’s excitement was over.

 

Mr. Unrequited Affection smiled fondly at that, half his mouth curving up at the side and eyes crinkling again. It wasn’t quite the same degree as it has been before, but Harry could tell it was genuine. “You take care up there, Sparrow. Give ‘em hell.”

 

With that, he was gone. Harry couldn’t even muster the strength to watch him leave. Instead he slumped down against the bar, cheek mashed against its sticky surface, and let out a loud, frustrated groan.

 

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up from his despondent position to see Niall. “Figured you could use this,” he said, setting down another shot.

 

“Alcohol doesn't solve everything, mate. Some things - like broken hearts - just need to heal on their own.” Harry still took the shot.

 

Niall rolled his eyes. “Oh my god. Get a grip. Your heart’s just bloody fine, ya big ball o’ mush.”

 

“I will never recover. I’ll never find love, Craic. I’m going to be stuck with you for the rest of my life,” Harry lamented.

 

“Ah well. There are worse things. Life with me wouldn’t be so bad. I’ll even let ya cook and clean and pay all the bills. And I promise to divide the remote for the telly a fair 70-30 split. You getting the 30 of course, because let's be honest, your taste in movies is abysmal. _Love Actually_? Really?”

 

“Wow. Talk about happily ever after,” Harry grunted with a pout. "A lifetime of indentured servitude looking after a half-drunk, over grown child who insists on watching all the Marvel's  _Avengers_ movies in his pants on a Saturday. Sign me up."

 

Niall chuckled. "You're first on the list, love."

 

Harry sighed, looking down at the spilled beer beneath his feet. “I didn’t even get his name."

 

“Don’t fret, mate. Benefits of being in a small town. You’ll see him again, yeah?”

 

Harry just shrugged sadly.

 

“Alright. Enough. Up! Let’s get ya home,” Niall said, hefting Harry up off his seat and leading him through the thinning crowds, calling out goodbyes to all his new friends as they went. Their cottage on the base was only a short walk from the pub, something Niall was all too pleased about.

 

Fifteen long minutes - and several perilous stumbles - later, they finally shoved into their cozy, little, make-shift home. Harry fell into his bed, still dressed, only a minute after that. He didn’t even have the energy to wank. 

 

Niall heaved a great sigh and quickly set to taking off Harry’s shoes. Harry just groaned in thanks and pouted up at the ceiling. Niall quickly stripped off his own clothes until he was down to his pants. With a quick look at the other empty bed, Niall shut off the lights and opted to crawl over Harry to join him in his.

 

“Come ‘ere, ya big oaf. Get in here for a cuddle. Know you need one.”

 

Harry happily snuggled into Niall’s side. “You’re the best RIO, did you know that?”

 

“Don’t think a few shining compliments will make me forget that you owe me twenty quid.”

 

Harry just nodded, already feeling sleep pulling at his consciousness.

 

“Night, Niall. I love you.”

 

“Yea, yea. You’d be lost without me and all that. Arsed if I know why I love ya back, but I do. Now get some rest. You’ve got fancy flying to do tomorrow. Reckon I’ll just take a little nap in the back seat. Sleep tight, Bum Bandit.”

 

Niall was right. Tomorrow was the big day, and Harry would have to push it to the very limit in order to prove himself among this group. He wouldn’t be able to rest on his last name anymore. Now it was about what _he_ could do. Tomorrow was the beginning of his lifelong dream. So why did it suddenly feel like it wasn’t enough anymore?

 

Pushing that troublesome thought from his mind, Harry fell asleep curled around his best mate. His dreams that night were a blissful peace - soaring through a sky the same color as a pair of crinkled eyes with that already familiar laugh echoing around him. He fell asleep with a smile on his face and woke up the same way, ready for whatever the day would hold. 

 

_This is enough_ , Harry thought to himself with a face full of Niall’s straw colored hair and a terrible crick in his back from having to be the big spoon. _I’m going to be happy…and I’m going to make Dad proud. This is enough._

 

If he repeated it enough times, maybe he would even believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thaaaaanks for reading! 
> 
> Leave your comments below, and don't be afraid to say hello on Tumblr now that I've got it set up (RealityBetterThanFiction)! In advance, apologies for its bland appearance...I'm new at Tumblr and still learning the ropes.
> 
> Cheers!


	3. Premier Delta - Week One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it all begins...welcome to Premier Delta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! 
> 
> As I continue to delve further into this verse, I've done quite a bit of research about the art of aerial combat in order for this story to sound authentic. There are, of course, huge technical inconsistencies considering I am NOT a fighter pilot and do NOT even enjoy flying commercially all that much, but I will wave the creative license flag until I go down with this ship (ha! Ship! Navy! OTP! Did ya see what I did there?). Regardless, I will be incorporating a great deal of the flight "lingo" into the story, and to help, I've decided to start a little running glossary of sorts for any terms that are outside the normal English language. Read if you want, or just refer back if needed, or if you happen to be a fighter pilot yourself than just ignore it completely. I hope it helps clear up any confusion!

**RealityBetterThanFiction's Crash-Course to Aviation (ha! another pun! on Harry's level now!):**

Call sign - Nickname given to pilots by their squadron members or training classmates (usually something embarrassing, offensive, nonsensical or all of the above)

Yoke - Steering device for aircraft (has nothing to do with eggs, sadly)

Throttle - Effectively the “gas pedal” operated via hand apparatus to control engine output and speed

Hop - flight mission or exercise

RIO (Radar Intercept Officer) - Naval officer who sits behind the pilot to manage equipment, radar, navigation, and radio communication. RIOs do not have control of steering the aircraft or firing weaponry, but are critical to the pilot's ability to seamlessly carry out a mission. (Or in Niall's case, provide the perfect plot device as a "conscience/mediator" with the bonus of being a built in wingman). 

Sandbag - Derogatory way to address a RIO or someone who sits in the back seat and does not control the plane, because you are effectively equating them to dead weight. Niall will fight you. Be warned.

Knot - unit of speed (1 Knot = approx 1.151mph) yea...i'll stick with mph, thanks

Rank - Designation of status and superiority (also pay grade $$$) within the Navy (for pilots, Ensign < Lieutenant Junior Grade  < Lieutenant < Lieutenant Commander < Commander < Captain < Admiral

*Note that this is for US Navy and is a little different for the British Royal Navy, but again..creative license and I felt more comfortable using the US system

Rescue Helo aka “Angel” - fishes you out of "the drink" after a crash

“The Drink” - another name for the ocean…where you definitely don’t want to be if you’re a pilot

“Whites” - Very flattering white Naval dress uniforms (not a real term typically used)

Working Uniforms - Less flattering tan uniforms worn day to day

Flight Suits - Very unflattering gear worn during flight (or as Niall refers to them as "feckin' po-tay-toh sacks")

Dog Tags - Identification tags worn by military members typically stating name, ID number, blood type and religion

Check the six - check directly behind you (tail of aircraft) because there is probably something there trying to kill you

Piddle Pack - how pilots “relieve” themselves on long flight missions after drinking one too many English Breakfasts...looking at you, Tomlinson. That's all I'm going to say about THAT.

 

Story starts below...Enjoy!

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Harry stood in the early morning sun watching as all the jets were being towed out toward the runway for today’s first day of flying at 1D. Harry always liked to watch this process each morning. It calmed him, grounded him, and gave him time to clear his head and think. Today was no different, except the stakes were a little higher than normal this particular morning. In fact, everything was a little different this morning, even Harry himself.

 

As if summoned by his thoughts, there she was...his beautiful girl, Georgia Rose, shining like a precious gemstone in the light of daybreak. Third in line, she stood proudly waiting for him, just as eager to get up in the clouds as he was. Once all the planes were assembled in the hanger and being dutifully prepped and fueled, Harry made his way across the pavement until he was standing next to her.

 

“Hello, my darling. Happy to see you here, aren’t I?” he murmured. He removed his flight glove, ignoring the early morning chill in the air, and stroked the side of her belly with his naked palm. “You and I, we’re going to look after one another up there, yeah? Just like always.” The crew attending to her ran a routine check on her landing gear, causing her to stir and groan in response. Harry smiled and hushed her gently, “Shh. I know, love. Soon. We’ll be up there soon. Just you wait.”

 

Harry continued to stroke her steel body from nose to tail as people scurried around him taking care of his lady.

 

“Thought I might find ya here,” a voice called from behind him, heavily lilting accent coloring the words. Harry turned away from Georgia Rose and smiled brightly at Niall.

 

“Morning. How are you holding up, Craic?” Harry asked.

 

“Me? Oh, I’m fine, mate. Just fine. You know me. Us Irish can handle our drink.” 

 

Niall had been singing a very different tune earlier this morning when Harry had woken him up and all but shoved him through his morning routine. Niall had loudly and emphatically prayed for death to ease his suffering from the moment his bleary blue eyes blinked open. He spent a good few minutes retching over the porcelain throne before crawling into the shower and guzzling about a quart of black coffee. It seemed that an hour removed from that display, Niall was in a much better state, the excitement of today brightening his mood considerably. He didn’t even look nervous…then again, Niall was _never_ nervous. Harry, on the other hand, tended more towards jittery panic on occasion. That's why he always liked a few quiet moments with Georgia Rose each morning to get himself settled and to assure her that she was in good hands.

 

“We should probably make our way to the war room, eh?” Niall said, reaching an arm out to lead Harry away from their plane, but not before calling out to Georgia Rose over his shoulder, “You’re looking lovely this morning, lassie! Looking forward to getting a ride later!”

 

"Be warned...if you 'toss cookies' in her cockpit today, it will be the last ride you get from her," Harry stated firmly.

 

Niall ignored the threat completely, knowing there was very little he could do to get himself kicked out of the seat behind Harry. “So how’s my pilot feeling this fine morning?” Niall asked instead as they walked toward the main building.

 

Harry took a deep breath. “Feeling…steady.”

 

“Good, good. Steady hands, steady plane. We’re gonna be just fine today, Sparrow. Better ’n that, even. We’re gonna be the _best_.”

 

Harry smiled down at Niall. He always did this. The RIO was practically a barometer for Harry’s tension and always tried to overcompensate. Harry loved him for it, even if it did little to ease his nerves. Until Harry got up in his plane, they were just empty words. Harry needed the stability of the yoke in his hand and the throttle in his grip to feel in control. Then he could allow himself to believe in Niall’s praise.

 

“Yeah, Craic. We’re gonna be the best,” Harry told him.

 

After a beat of silence, “So about that twenty quid…”

 

Harry chuckled, and just like that, the rest of his tension was gone. “Sorry, mate. Don’t have it on me. Left it in my other bedazzled thong.”

 

Niall cracked up and pinched his bum. “ _Knew_ you wouldn’t break tradition on me. How ‘m I supposed to concentrate up there now knowing what you’ve got going on under here?”

 

“A bet’s a bet, after all. You did say it was required attire for every first day at a new base, did you not? You’re just going to have to do your best to focus, mate. At least keep yourself under control until we get to the showers after we’re back on the ground.”

 

Niall shook his head fondly. “We really need to get you laid so you’ll stop soliciting me. We’ve been over this. You’re pretty, you know you are, but you’re just not my type.”

 

Harry clutched at his chest. “What a tragedy. I don’t think I can fly now. I’m heartbroken.”

 

“You’re just going to have to do your best to focus, mate,” Niall parroted back in a spot-on imitation of Harry’s northern posh. “Besides, I thought your heart was _already_ broken over that lad last night?”

 

Harry was quick to lie, “I’m fine. Alcohol really does fix everything. Completely and totally fine, Craic. The finest of the fine.”

 

The mention of Mr. Strike Out from yesterday night at the bar made Harry frown. He had spared more than a few thoughts for those sea-blue eyes and crooked smile since he woke up this morning, more thoughts than he was willing to own up to. He really needed to keep his head focused today, and thinking about that incredible arse that he had only gotten to observe so briefly (and mostly seated for that matter…now _that_ was the real tragedy) wouldn’t do anything to help him keep his attention where it was very much needed. It would only succeed in making him walk funny, and his damn knickers were already riding up uncomfortably. Fucking RIOs and their deplorable minds for punishment.

 

Harry tried to adjust himself slyly, but of course Niall noticed. “Yea. I can see you’ve really put him out of your mind. Completely and totally forgotten about him. Right.”

 

Harry pouted. “Enough from you. Let’s get going. We’ve got class in ten, and then first hop after that.”

 

Niall nodded and didn’t mention Harry's blue eyed man again. Now it was time for business. “To first days.” He reached out his fist and bumped it against Harry’s.

 

“And sparkly underwear,” Harry returned, smiling brightly. “Bring it on, 1D.”

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

“Gentleman. Let me be the first to officially welcome you to Premier Delta,” said Captain Cowell, or as he had introduced himself to them, Psycho. “You’ve all been selected because you are at the top of this profession, the most elite pilots in the Royal Navy…but we’re going to make you better.”

 

Captain Cowell stood at the front of the war room with his hands formally knotted together behind his back while he paced. All the new recruits sat in stiff backed chairs in front of him, spines perfectly erect as they squirmed under his indomitable presence. He was a middle aged gentleman with thick, black hair that carried just the slightest hint of gray at the temples. His stern expression and no-nonsense voice made it abundantly clear that he was the man in charge around here. If Harry remembered correctly, he had been one of the best fighter pilots in the country back in his prime and had taken over proceedings at 1D just after Harry’s father had passed away. He had ruled with an iron fist ever since and had been producing the best crop of pilots the world had to offer.

 

The Captain continued on, “Our program will train you to be the best dogfighters in the air, able to neutralize enemy targets in hostile situations to provide aerial support both at land and at sea. You’re all here because you’ve shown to be intuitive and skilled pilots, but it takes a lot more than that to be a _fighter_ pilot. You’ve got to push it up there. You’ve got to put it all on the line. When you’re done with the six week program here, you won’t know any other way to fly. If that’s not what you’re here for, that’s the door, and I suggest you use it.” He paused for a moment to give them their chance to flee, but no one dared to move an inch.

 

“Good.” He slowly made his way to the back of the room where a wall of plaques and trophies hung on proud display. “Here at 1D, you will be assessed not only on your course work, but also on flight skill and technique. You will be awarded points based on performance during hops, a system that will allow us to rank you throughout the program and instill a bit of… _friendly competition_.” 

 

It was said tongue in cheek, of course, because all fighter pilots knew that there was no such thing as “friendly competition.” It just wasn't in their nature. To fly was to always come out on top. It was basic survival. After all, to even be in this company, one had to be at the top of the class at every previous level. It was like putting five pairs of prize fighters in the ring and telling them that only one would come out alive. It was a battle to the death, every pilot for themselves. Harry wasn’t necessarily a cut-throat type of person by nature, but put him in a plane and he was just as ruthless and determined as the next pilot. Just as driven to be distinguished as the best yet again.

 

Captain Cowell tapped a large plaque with a golden jet plane and all eyes instantly focused on it with envy, “At the end of the program, the pilot and his RIO who have the most points will earn themselves the highest accolade in Naval combat training, the Premier Delta Trophy. This distinction will not only immortalize you in the field of aerial combat, but it also allows you first selection for duties upon graduation. The greatest pilots throughout history have been awarded this honor, and I know you will all be fighting your hardest to attain it, but I must stress that once these six weeks are done, remember that you will all be on the same team up there. Don’t forget that in the heat of the competition.”

 

Harry looked around the room and could instantly tell that for some of the recruits, that was going to be really hard to remember. Already they were eyeing one another up, trying to spot weaknesses and figure how to exploit them. Chevron seemed to be the one with the coldest stare, and right now it was directed at Harry. They held eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time before Captain Cowell signaled for a group of men that had been standing at the back of the room to come forward. The instructors. Harry had met several of them yesterday, and their names were all highly revered in the Navy, having been a part of some of the most dangerous missions over the past decade…the missions that Harry read about in the papers and classified files with reverent fascination. 

 

One by one, Cowell introduced them to the recruits.

 

“This is Commander Ben Winston, call sign Banshee, and next to him is Commander Jamie Dornan, call sign Steele. The pair of them will be your primary flight instructors in the program. They are top notch aviators and will be flying against you as targets during the hops. We’re also lucky to have Commander James Corden, call sign Hollywood, with us on loan from the HMS Regis. There he is responsible for flying the rescue helicopter as he will be doing here. He will be assisting us when we transition to carrier during the fourth week.”

 

Harry observed his instructors carefully. Banshee and Steele were tall, well-built, dark haired men with the kind of facial hair that was both distinguished and devilishly attractive. Hollywood, in contrast, was a softer soul, both in appearance and spirit. He smiled brightly at the recruits, and Harry knew that if he ever found himself in trouble and needing a rescue, that smile would be a welcome sight after being dragged from the drink by the Angel.

 

Once the primary instructors offered their greetings, Captain Cowell moved back to the center of the room. “There are two more very important members of our team that I must introduce before we commence with your first class of the day. The first is our deputy defense secretary, Sophia Smith, call sign Illusion. She is a civilian with a PhD in astrophysics and will be providing you valuable data on enemy crafts in addition to instructing some of your courses. You do not salute her, but you damn well better listen to her.”

 

A beautiful dark-haired woman stepped up to the front of the room wearing a sleek, feminine cut business suit and tasteful heels. Her hair was pulled back into a perfectly styled french knot and a pair of glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, giving her the vibe of a private school teacher that wasn’t afraid to crack out the whip if any of her pupils were disobedient. She was as gorgeous as she was intimidating. Harry couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something very familiar about her as if he’d seen her before. What was even more suspicious was that she seemed to be eyeing Harry just as closely.

 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Niall whispered into Harry's ear. Before Harry could ask what he meant, Captain Cowell was speaking again.

 

“The last member of our team is one of our most skilled fighter pilots who graduated from 1D a little over six years ago. He has been part of an elite and highly classified team of pilots who have been doing critical surveillance work in the Middle East over the past few years. We are lucky to have him back here at 1D while he awaits full Commander status. This is Lieutenant Commander Louis Tomlinson, call sign Rogue. And you’d best get ready to have your arses handed to you, because when it comes to flying, he doesn’t play fair…just like your enemies.”

 

Niall's head whipped around, and when he got his eyes on the last of the instructors, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Then he was fighting to repress his laughter. “Oh this is too good,” Niall wheezed while pawing at Harry’s arm. Harry tried to hush Niall with a sharp elbow to the ribs as whoever this Lieutenant Commander was slowly approached the front of the room. Harry hadn’t even seen anyone else standing at the back. The man had literally materialized from the shadows. Already Harry had a sinking suspicion that he probably flew the same way. Rogue. Apt name, that.

 

“Hi,” was all the man said…and Harry immediately knew that voice. Slowly his eyes tracked up to the front of the room, and then he let out a single, honking, bark of a laugh, poorly disguised as a cough.

 

Because suddenly right there in front of him, wearing the same standard issue working uniform as Harry, was Mr. Heartbreaker himself from the bar last night. And he was smirking at Harry like the cat who had just swallowed the canary. What the fuck was life.

 

Harry just stared in disbelief, completely ignoring Niall next to him, who was probably going to have an aneurism at this point with how red his face was. This could not be happening. The jet engine fumes that Harry probably inhaled far too much of as an occupational hazard must be finally catching up to him, causing some kind of stress induced hallucinations. That was the only explanation. That was the only way this was really happening, because Harry’s luck could not be that awful. He hadn’t done enough evil in his short life so far to warrant this kind of cruel joke compliments of the universe. This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.

 

Louis Tomlinson. _Lieutenant Commander_ Louis Tomlinson. _Premier Delta Instructor_ Louis Tomlinson.

 

Well…at least Harry knew his name now.

 

“That’s it for now, gentleman,” Captain Cowell said. “Please follow Banshee and Illusion to the designated classroom down the hall for your first course starting at 0930. First hop of the day will start at 1200. Dismissed.”

 

Harry stumbled from the room in a daze with Niall closely following to support his body weight should he do something embarrassing such as fainting like a myotonic goat. He didn’t turn around again, just like he hadn’t last night, but Harry still felt the ever watchful eyes of Mr. Should Have Mentioned I’m Your Instructor burning a hole in the middle of his back. 

 

It wasn’t really shocking, was the thing. Harry wasn’t even angry. The truth of it was that just before falling asleep last night, Harry had hoped beyond all else to just see the beautiful blue eyed man one more time…but not like this. Jesus. Not like this. Because it meant one thing and one thing only now. Louis Tomlinson was completely and without doubt off limits.

 

“Fuck what I said earlier, Craic. I’m not fine. I’m so completely and totally not fine at all.”

 

Niall gave him a sympathetic smile before clasping him on the shoulder. “Nonsense. We’ll handle it. Now let’s just get you up in a plane, alright? You might not be able to get in his _pants_ , but you can certainly get under his _skin_ up there. If you fly the way I know you’re capable of, Lieutenant Commander Louis Fucking Tomlinson is going to be chasing after _you,_ mate. Just you wait.”

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

“Check the six! I can’t see him! Craic, I can’t fucking see - ”

 

_Beeeeeeeepppppp_

 

Harry slammed his hand against the window of his plane in frustration as Steele got him on radar lock. 

 

Twenty-two seconds. 

 

Lt. Harry Styles’ first hop at Premier Delta lasted a grand total of twenty-two fucking seconds. Twenty-two seconds was all it took for him to die in a fiery blaze of utter mortification.

 

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Niall hissed. “I’ve taken shits longer ’n that. How the fuck did the bastard even _do_ that?”

 

Steele’s voice came through their headsets. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that, Sparrow. A whole hell of a lot better than that. Get back on the ground and meet me in the war room for post flight debriefing. We’ve got a lot to discuss after that stunning display of top notch idiocy.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Harry muttered before yanking off his mask. “ _Fuck_.”

 

“Hey,” Niall said, voice strained as it never usually was. “We’ll be fine. Keep your pecker up, Sparrow. We’ll get ‘em next time, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, jaw clenched tight, but he believed it just as little as Niall did.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

There wasn’t much time to think about anything other than aviation related topics the rest of the day considering how tightly leashed the instructors of 1D kept the recruits. Every single minute of their day was strictly scheduled and expected to be followed to the T. There was barely even time to take a piss, if Harry was honest. He might as well start wearing a fucking piddle pack at this rate. They had just finished their late afternoon hop, which had gone just about as horrifically as the first, and Harry was already seriously considering curling up in a corner and sobbing himself to sleep. Unfortunately, they still had two more classes to sit throughout about aerodynamics and meteorology. He wanted to knock himself unconscious to avoid them both.

 

Harry had thought that flight school had been a long haul - two years of constant stress and near mental breakdowns as he learned his way around a fighter jet. But this place…they were trying to cram the same bulk of information learned through the entirety of basic flight school into _six bloody weeks_. Harry would be lucky to leave here with his sanity intact, forget that stupid trophy. He had never imagined it would be this impossible, and they weren’t even finished with day one.

 

Niall walked silently at his side down the hallway to the locker rooms, the quiet unnerving in its abnormality. Harry was on the verge of a panic induced explosion, and Niall was clearly hesitant to do anything to set him off. Harry really needed Niall to say _something_ right now, but he knew that nothing his RIO could offer would ease Harry’s frustration. Harry had been the one in control. Harry had been the one responsible for their failure. Now he was just going to have to work himself out of this mental hole one clawing handful of dirt at a time. 

 

It was thus only natural on this shit-tastic day of all his dreams crashing down in a blazing wreck that he nearly bulldozed right into one of the many reasons for said destruction. As if he needed any more reason to pull a kamikaze mission next time he got his hands on the yoke.

 

“Oops!” Harry said uncontrollably, stumbling back into Niall as he bounced off of the body he had collided with. Oops? Again? _Really!?_

 

Lt. Tomlinson effortlessly righted himself with all the agility of a jungle cat. Then he gave Harry a predatory smirk, the same damn sexy smirk from last night that Harry had wanted to kiss off his stupidly attractive face.

 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, casanova,” Lt. Tomlinson said, voice just as melodious and rich as Harry remembered.

 

It was the first time Harry had seen Lt. Tomlinson since this morning’s introductory meeting debacle. And damn it all if he wasn’t every bit as infuriatingly desirable as he had been last night. The knowledge that he was Harry’s superior had clearly done nothing to stifle Harry’s raging hormones. In his wild state of frustration with his adrenaline still on overdrive from the fucked up hops of the day, Harry felt a nearly incapacitating surge of lust course through his entire body. He wanted to grab the back of Lt. Tomlinson’s neck, yank him into a bruising crush of lips, and then pin him up against the wall so he could tear him apart.

 

His hands shook with the effort to restrain them.

 

“Sir,” Harry spoke evenly, voice a full octave lower than normal. He was sure he looked an absolute wreck…hair wild, cheeks flushed and eyes dark…but he didn’t even care to give a shit. It was a fight or flight response burning in Harry's veins. Either he fled screaming in the other direction or he accosted the man with his tongue (and his lips and his teeth and his hands among many other appendages). He was not mentally prepared for this choice after the day he’d had.

 

Lt. Tomlinson’s eyes widened ever so slightly as he took Harry in before he blinked the confusion away. Harry struggled to get control of his body given the mixed messages his nervous system was receiving from his brain. And Niall rocked back and forth on his heels with a shit-eating grin, having a jolly good time watching Harry unravel. Harry was going to string Niall up to the nose of Georgia Rose and go supersonic straight up toward the sun until Niall's face melted off his skull...see if his fair Irish skin could handle _that_  kind of UV exposure.

 

“Heard you had a rough day up there today,” Lt. Tomlinson commented casually. “You’re on quite the roll, aren’t you? Today, last night…seems you can’t win for trying.”

 

Well that...that was just _rude_. Now Harry was leaning more toward the fight instinct…finished by another round of snogging.

 

Harry took a deep, steadying breath and surveyed the situation as any good pilot would do. If he was going to have to engage in whatever this was, he needed to make sure he had good position. He figured it would probably be best to maintain some type of professionalism...clear the air so to speak. He was going to be seeing this man everyday and based on today’s performance, Harry _really_ couldn’t risk any more distraction. He’d yet to fly up against the infamous Rogue, but he was willing to bet he wouldn’t fair much better than he’d done against Banshee and Steele. Harry wanted to at least face Rogue up there with some semblance of dignity while he got mercilessly slaughtered.

 

“Listen…Sir….” Harry began after clearing his throat, looking down at the ground so as not to give away just how much he _hated_ having to do this. “About last night, I…I really shouldn’t have…um…I’m just trying to…”

 

Lt. Tomlinson chuckled softly and held up a hand to stop Harry’s mumbling. “Oh, at ease. I was just taking the piss. Spare me from the rest of what I’m sure would have been a heartfelt and painfully long winded apology. I think you’re having a punishing enough day as it is. Wouldn’t want you to suffer any more than necessary. I only like seeing grown men whimper under very specific circumstances.” That fucking raised eyebrow. God, Harry could whimper right now. He could whimper like a kicked puppy.

 

Lt. Tomlinson laughed at Harry’s obvious discomfort, although he probably didn’t quite know the full reason behind it. He leaned into Harry as if divulging a secret, and Harry held his breath and went totally motionless. 

 

“Besides,” Lt. Tomlinson said…practically _purred_. “It wasn’t like you were the first or only one to chat me up last night. I know how to handle a randy recruit. I know how to turn them away without trampling their sensitive, little egos. After all, ego is everything to a pilot, wouldn’t you agree? I'd hate to be the reason a pilot loses his edge, because when a pilot loses that, he's about as useful as a pigeon up there. Nothing like a sparrow.”

 

_Excuse me?_

 

That was it. That was Harry’s last straw pulled. He had tried to be nice, tried to apologize, and he got _that_ in return? He couldn’t tell which irritated him more, the accusation that he was just another “randy recruit," the insinuation that there had been _other_ “randy recruits,” or the blatant disrespect for his call sign. Lt. Tomlinson wanted ego? He was going to get a fucking face full of it. Fight it was, apparently.

 

Harry stood up straighter and leaned back out of Lt. Tomlinson’s space. He used every single inch he had on the shorter man and looked down at him with as fierce an expression as he could muster. “Well, at least I'm not a vulture. Praying on those around me to make myself feel bigger." Harry wanted to see those fiery blue eyes dim a little bit...see the arrogant man currently in front of him - the very same man who he had thought was so sweet and pleasantly sassy last night - shrink down a few sizes. Lt. Tomlinson wasn’t the only one capable of being a nasty little shit when pushed.

 

But then something else happened. Lt. Tomlinson’s eyes lit up at that like the after burn in an engine, and his smile slammed back across his face in full force. “There you are. Now _that_ sounds more like a fighter pilot. Was wondering when you'd show up. So what’s your name, Lieutenant?”

 

“Sparrow,” Harry said, tapping stubbornly on his flight helmet under his arm where his call sign was proudly displayed between a pair of wings. "Which, in case you flunked Biology back in primary school, is _not_ a pigeon."

 

Lt. Tomlinson rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “Yes, I'm aware of the difference. No need to go all avian advocate on me. That wasn't what I was asking. What’s your _name_?”

 

It was such a typical question for a first introduction, but Harry found it uncomfortably personal considering real names were so infrequently used in the world of aerial combat. He felt more of a connection to Sparrow than he did to his given name...it had been that way for years. He very rarely introduced himself with his birth name anymore, and no one ever normally cared to learn it either.

 

“Styles, Sir. Harry Styles.” The words tasted strange, and they always reminded him of his father.

 

That same look from last night, the uncertainty and discomfort, crossed Lt. Tomlinson’s face again, his former bravado gone. His eyes flicked down to the neck of Harry’s flight suit and locked on his dog tags again.

 

“I had a feeling. So you’re the one,” he said quietly.

 

Before Harry could ask him what the hell he meant by that, Niall piped up and slung an arm around Harry’s shoulders. The fight in Harry was starting to fade, and Niall in all his RIO glory stepped in flawlessly to recover the situation. “Excuse me, Lieutenant, but why can’t little ol’ Craic here ever be ' _the one_?' Is it because ’m a RIO? It is, isn’t it. No respect, I tell ya. Always the sidekicks, never the heroes, us RIOs.” He pouted like a little child as if he wasn't solely responsible for keeping Harry alive up on missions.

 

Lt. Tomlinson straightened up and gave Niall an amused expression. “Don’t fret, I’ve got my eye on you too, Sandbag. Something tells me the pair of you are going to be trouble.”

 

“Us? Trouble? Don’t know where you got that impression.” Niall actually sounded offended. “We’re gonna be your star pupils. Top o’ the class. We’ll even bring ya apples…although my pilot here’s got more of a fondness for bananas. Isn’t that right, Sparrow?”

 

One of Lt. Tomlinson’s eyebrows arched up again. “Well…in that case, I would advise you to keep your bananas to yourself. Now get your arses to Aerodynamics. It is _my_ class, after all, and my star pupils are never late, are they?”

 

“No, sir,” Niall said, standing rigidly for a salute. “We’ll be _early_.” 

 

Lt. Tomlinson rolled his eyes. "At ease."

 

Harry bit his lip and dared again to look at Lt. Tomlinson…his superior…his instructor. Jesus. He needed to keep reminding himself of that. Off limits. Off limits. Way way _way_ off limits. And a vulture.

 

“Lieutenant?” Harry asked before Lt. Tomlinson could turn away. He couldn't help himself. “Again…I’m sorry.”

 

Lt. Tomlinson turned those sharp blue eyes on him again, back to their crinkling ways. So maybe they weren't quite the eyes of a vulture, but they still weren't eyes to be trusted. Yet.

 

“As I said before, no apologies," Lt. Tomlinson replied. "But I do have a piece of advice. Keep your ego up there, Sparrow. I like that in a pilot. And for the record...I really, really fucking hate pigeons.”

 

Harry nodded, already feeling his frustrations from the day start to ease. He still had his edge. They hadn’t managed to take it away from him yet. And he was going to show them - and Lt. Tomlinson - just what he could do when he let a little bit of that ego loose. Sparrows were meant to fly, and so was Harry.

 

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said, giving him a salute.

 

Lt. Tomlinson saluted him back before adding quietly, “And please…don’t call me _Sir_. It’s Rogue.”

 

Harry and Niall stood in silence watching him until he disappeared around a corner. Then Niall turned to Harry with a wolfish smile, “Bet Rogue isn’t all he’d like you to call him. He seems more the _Daddy_ type to me.”

 

Harry groaned and covered his face with his hands. That was officially his limit for the day.

 

Niall just laughed and slapped his arse. “Jesus was that some thick sexual tension there, huh? Better get used to flying at half mast under your flight suit from now on, mate. Just make sure when you’re up there you’re grabbing the yoke and not your knob.”

 

“Come on, we’ve got class with Lt. Pigeon Penis in fifteen minutes. Thanks to you and your big mouth, now we’re going to have to be early to every bloody thing for the next six weeks.”

 

Niall shrugged. “Who knows, maybe Lt. Tomlinson gives extra credit for punctuality. Or maybe he’d prefer it if you stayed after class for some private tutoring - hands on demonstration and that. Show him you like to put in a little extra work to make sure you’ve got all the moves down just right. I bet you’d even be willing to pull an all nighter practicing. Just working on your technique with him all…night…long.”

 

“Oh God,” Harry groaned again. “I’ve got to make a quick trip to the showers. I’ll see you in class.”

 

Niall cackled as Harry hurried away from him toward the locker room, moving as fast as he could with half a hard on. Harry could hear Niall call out, “Have fun! Don’t be late. You look great, honey!” before he slammed the door to the locker room and proceeded to lock it behind him.

 

After double and triple checking that the room was empty, Harry stripped out of his flight suit - and that god-damned golden thong, may it burn in effigy - and headed straight for the showers.

 

Two and a half minutes later, he leaned his head against the tile while the spray of water washed the products of his unsatisfying and embarrassingly abbreviated release down the drain. At least he lasted longer than either of his hops today. That had to count for something.

 

Despite the interruption, he still made it to class with five minutes to spare, sitting front and center next to Niall with Lt. Tomlinson smirking at him every time his eyes met Harry’s. Who knew Aerodynamics could be so fascinating (and frustrating)? Harry had never paid attention to anything as devoutly in his life. Verdict was still out on how the rest of his classes and flight evaluations were going to go here at 1D, but this class? Harry was going to bloody ace _this_ fucking class.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You're the best squadron around. :)
> 
> Next chapter...will things improve for poor Harry and Niall at Premier Delta???
> 
> Feel free to comment and say hello on Tumblr (RealityBetterThanFiction)!
> 
> Cheers!


	4. Premier Delta - Week Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot happens in week two at 1D...a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy...this is a long one! Nearly double the length of the others! Hope you enjoy because my fingers are aching from typing so much!
> 
> Trigger Warning: Very mild description of racist and homophobic violence. Read with caution, or message me if you would prefer to know what happens without reading.
> 
> Thanks and enjoy!

**RealityBetterThanFiction's Crash-Course to Aviation:**

MiG - a single pilot Russian designed fighter jet that is very fast, highly maneuverable and not something you look forward to seeing up in the skies

Bogey - no, not something that comes out of your nose…it refers to an enemy aircraft on the radar

 

Story starts below...Enjoy!

 

xxxxx

 

By the time the first week at 1D ended, Harry was so exhausted that he pretty much slept the entire day on Sunday - the only precious day off they were given during the week. Even then, he still had coursework to catch up on when he finally awoke from his eighteen hour hibernation late Sunday afternoon.

 

With the sun setting across the horizon, he sat with Niall on their back porch, each shirtless with a beer in hand, while they went over an assignment for Aerodynamics on tactical maneuvers best used to deal against the faster, smaller and more responsive MiGs that the Russian forces were using. Dr. Smith had spent an entire two hours on Friday lamenting on the frustrating lack of information they possessed on the aircrafts considering that intel out of Russia was pretty much nonexistent. The Russians liked to play things pretty close to the chest, it seemed. Very few pilots even had the opportunity to _see_ a MiG in person, but their threat in dogfights made it imperative to always be prepared. That’s why at 1D they were training the pilots to specifically engage this type of fighter jet by using smaller A-4 models that were similar, yet not quite as speedy as the MiGs. They were wicked difficult to fly considering they were a single-man jet and very sensitive when it came to steering, so there was really only one pilot in their group of instructors who flew the A-4 with skill sharp enough to mimic the MiG pilots…and of course that was Lt. Tomlinson.

 

Harry had yet to fly up against him yet, but from what the other pilots in their recruit class had said based on their experiences with him, he was every bit as lethal as advertised. Harry wasn’t sure if he was looking forward to his chance at the infamous Rogue or dreading it.

 

“I don’t think Georgia Rose’s thrust to weight ratio can support this, Sparrow,” Niall said, sipping his beer and tapping his pencil against his notepad. He was looking over Harry’s breakdown of a thrust reverse to gain a better attack position with a frown on his face. “She’s a spry little thing, don’t get me wrong, but against the A-4 - against a _MiG_? - it’s not going to work. Too aggressive and too risky. Lt. Tomlinson will tear this apart.”

 

“Aggressive is good…aggressive shows _ego_ ,” Harry retorted, standing by his decision. It had been his motto for the entire rest of the week since the little hallway chat with Lt. Tomlinson last Monday. Niall hadn’t been too pleased with Harry’s sudden change of style.

 

Niall shook his head. “Yea, but sometimes aggressive is just plain stupid. Don’t go wild up there on me, mate. First priority is to keep us alive, then worry about the other guy,” Niall warned.

 

Harry sighed and looked back down at his schematics, now seeing the fault in his arrogance. Niall was right. This whole situation with Lt. Tomlinson was really fucking with his head. He was trying to find the balance between who he was and who he wanted to be as a pilot, but it wasn’t easy. He flew too safe and he got chastised…he flew too dangerously and he got chewed out. The rest of the first week had been better than the first day, sure, and Harry’s flying was showing improvement day over day, but it wasn’t there yet. It wasn’t nearly good enough yet. Harry was getting impatient…and he was getting reckless.

 

The entire week had been nothing but a push and pull in Harry’s brain. It seemed that Lt. Tomlinson had for some unknown reason singled him out to be the center of his attention in class. Every question that didn’t have a hand raised to answer was directed at Harry. Every answer Harry provided to said questions was then ripped apart piece by piece by Lt. Tomlinson’s snarky attitude. Nothing Harry did was good enough for him. Harry wasn’t sure why he was being targeted in such a way, but it was clear that everyone else was taking notice. Every time Harry got a patch torn out of his flesh by Lt. Tomlinson, Chevron and his surgically attached RIO would turn their heads toward one another and snicker, enjoying Harry’s humiliation.

 

Niall set his beer down and itched at his bare chest below his dog tags. He took his snap back off and ran a hand through his messy blonde hair. “You’ve got to reign it in, mate. You’re better than this. I know y’are.” He paused as if considering his words, and then hit Harry with the big guns, “Don’t let that wanker get in your head.”

 

Niall’s face was supportive, but his tone was warning. Niall was both Harry’s biggest supporter and most vocal critic. After all, Harry didn’t just have his own life in his hands up there, he had Niall’s too. They had agreed long ago to always be honest with one another, because if they weren’t, the risks were far too great. Harry and Niall loved a good bet as much as the next bloke, but they were not willing to bet on being passive aggressive about their partnership with stakes that high.

 

“I’ll try again,” Harry said quietly, diverting his attention back to his notebook where he opened to a fresh page and started the entire assignment over. Niall seemed to be pleased and lounged back in his chair, letting his face turn up towards the last bit of sun in the sky.

 

A half hour later, Harry passed over the new schematics. Niall looked it over and then smiled. “Now this is what I’m talking about. I like this. Sexy moves, Styles.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Glad my flying turns you on. You seem to be the only one.”

 

Niall smirked at him. “I don’t know about that. We’re acing all of our classes, Aerodynamics included.” 

 

And that really was the biggest surprise of all, wasn’t it? For as much as Harry was being called out in Lt. Tomlinson’s class, he was quite baffled as to why he was receiving top marks when it looked to everyone else that he was a bumbling buffoon who couldn’t manage to find the yoke if his life depended on it.

 

“If we could only start doing better on hops, we’d be golden,” Harry sighed. That was the real crux, though. It wasn’t worth shit that he knew it on paper. If he couldn’t do it up in the sky, he wasn’t a _pilot_ …he was a _pigeon_.

 

Harry had come to absolutely loathe that word. Of course, once seeing how much using it upset Harry, Lt. Tomlinson had taken up the obnoxious habit of using it on a daily basis when calling him out in class, always pretending to apologize as if he’d just mistaken his call sign for another bird instead of blatantly taunting him. Harry was going to buy a flock of pigeons and let them loose to shit all over Lt. Tomlinson’s office if he used the damn name one more fucking time.

 

“We’ll probably get Rogue sometime this week on a hop, statistically speaking,” Niall said with a heavy yawn. “Maybe that will be out chance. We’re only behind Chevron and Pak-Man by two points. A win would tie us, and taking down Rogue would certainly up our street cred.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, eyes narrowing. Harry had a few surprises up his sleeve for his favorite instructor when they finally faced off. 

 

Lt. Tomlinson had teased him about his passion for feathered friends, but Harry knew that one could learn a lot about the art of flying by watching the creatures that did it as naturally as breathing. Their patterns, their movements, their attack styles…they were all clues that could help any pilot better tame the unruly sky. That was something his father had taught him when he took Harry out birdwatching with him as a young lad.

 

“ _Watch the masters at work, son_ ,” Dad would say, eyes directed upwards toward the beautiful sparrowhawks that used to circle the skies of their hometown in Cheshire. The graceful birds swooped and dived in a complicated dance, as if playing with one another. But when they caught sight of prey, their attack was fierce and swift. “ _You’ve got to fly like them, Harry. Never forget the gift of freedom that the sky affords, but when your time comes, you need to fly fearlessly. The sparrowhawk is never afraid, and neither are you._ ”

 

Harry had become a student of the sky ever since, watching all types of birds to glean their secrets. His favorite was an obvious choice, given his call sign, but he was knowledgeable in other types too. Even vultures. The thing about the vulture was that they were scavengers…only attacked the weak. They waited and circled as their prey grew frantic and helpless beneath them. Then they swept in and made the final kill. They were a feared bird, an omen of death, but in Harry’s mind, that classic portrayal wasn’t quite accurate. Because in their nature was their fatal flaw….if you never gave up, the vulture would never strike.

 

Harry had no intention of giving up.

 

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

 

Week two started off better for Harry. He won his first hop against Banshee on Monday morning after a brutal battle that lasted over an hour. Harry was riding high for the rest of the day, with a goofy grin on his face throughout all his afternoon classes. Even Lt. Tomlinson’s nagging in Aerodynamics couldn’t ruin his good mood.

 

Unfortunately it seemed that as Harry’s spirits soared throughout week two, Niall’s were swiftly deteriorating. It was Wednesday when Harry finally reached the breaking point with Niall.

 

Harry was just coming back from the gym when he spotted his blonde haired, ball-of-stress RIO lurking in the hallway with his head peeking surreptitiously around the corner, stress eating a giant bag of crisps with greasy fingers. 

 

“Hey,” Harry called, startling Niall, which was usually quite hard to do. Niall was always watching his six. “Missed you at the gym, mate. Where were you?”

 

Harry had taken advantage of a rare hour break between classes to get in a good workout at the gym and had run into Chervon there, who apparently pushed weights like a fucking tank. Harry had watched in terror as Chevron lifted more than seemed physically possible as he cruised through the weight room like a man on a mission. He hadn’t even bothered to spare a moment to acknowledge Harry’s presence, just kept plowing through his workout with frightening intensity, eventually ending with a long and brutal session against the old, well-used boxing bag in the corner of the room. Harry had been too intimidated to do anything other than use the treadmill until Chevron left the gym. Harry was strong, a necessity to survive life as a Navy man, but the display that Chevron had put on was obscene. Harry left the gym feeling less a man than he had when he went in. So feeling a little deficient in testosterone, Harry hung his towel over his sweaty shoulders and marched glumly down the hall towards the locker room, subsequently running into Niall.

 

Niall waved his grease covered hand at Harry before diving it back down into the bag for more crisps. “When have you ever known me to work out willingly?” Niall asked, which was…pretty accurate. Even though he spoke to Harry, his eyes were still glued to the spot where they had been focusing before Harry came up to him, and Harry was staring to get curious as to what Niall was watching with such rapt attention. Niall was in straight up secret mission status right now, back flat against the wall and head peeking around the corner. His loud munching and crinkling of the foil crisp bag probably gave him away, though.

 

Before Harry could ask, Niall was mumbling, more to himself than Harry, “I can’t crack that pair. I tried everything. I tried layin’ on the old Horan charm, and it got me nowhere. Nowhere! Not a bloody thing. Not even a smile. Not even eye contact, for Christ’s sake. I’m losing me touch. I must be. Oh my God.” He turned quickly to Harry with wide, desperate eyes. “Tell me honest, mate, am I no longer young and beautiful anymore? Are my glory days over?”

 

Niall seemed genuinely on the verge of tears, and Harry was clueless as to what was causing his normally even tempered friend such panic. 

 

Then he looked around the corner and saw the object of Niall’s obsessive spy games. Chevron’s dark-haired, tan-skinned RIO was sitting at one of the desks in the study room that pilots were able to use during downtime, quietly working on some assignments.

 

Now it made sense. Over the past week, Niall had developed a new focus besides flying, and that was stalking Lt. Zayn Malik.

 

“You know,” Harry began casually, gently removing the nearly empty bag of crisps from Niall’s hands. “Not everyone on the plant has to be your best friend. Some people happen to be a little bit more private and reserved and - this is said with the upmost love and affection - sometimes you come on a little…strong.” 

 

Niall scoffed as if it were an absolutely ridiculous concept for anyone to deny his company. Niall never met a person he didn’t befriend. Ever. That was the whole reason for his intricate network of sources that seemed to get Harry and Niall _into_ \- and then thankfully _out_ _of_ \- so much trouble. It was endearing, really, how determined Niall was to ensure that not a single person went without his love. He really did had the biggest heart of anyone Harry had ever met. Unfortunately it seemed that the mighty heart of Niall Horan had finally met its match in the form of iron hearts Zayn Malik and Liam Payne.

 

“And no,” Harry added, trying to appease his floundering RIO, “You are still just as lovely as you’ve always been. Your glory days are very much still at large.” He pinched Niall’s cheek and gave him a wink.

 

“Hard to bloody believe with the way I’m being ignored,” Niall sulked. He gave one last forlorn look at Lt. Malik and then separated himself from the wall and followed Harry to the locker room.

 

“You make any headway with War Machine?” Niall asked, using his new nickname for Chevron. After watching Chevron lift in the weight room today, Harry figured it was pretty damn spot on.

 

“No. But remind me to never get in the boxing ring with him. Wouldn’t last a second.”

 

“Not with those biceps you wouldn’t. Pitiful.”

 

“Heeey,” Harry said, punching Niall for good measure just to show what his biceps were capable of.

 

“Can we grab lunch before we go to class?” Niall asked when they got into the locker room, entirely ignoring the fact that Harry was stripping off his clothes right in front of him. Niall had seen Harry naked so many times by now that it was probably more startling to see him actually _wearing_ clothes. Harry had a thing about wearing clothes at home…it just wasn’t necessary to contain his spirit that way. Niall got used to it eventually.

 

“You just ate an entire bag of crisps,” Harry remarked before stepping into the shower and pulling the curtain across. Niall sat down on the bench just outside so they could continue their discussion. Harry sighed as the hot water and steam enveloped him and washed away the layer of sweat from his body.

 

“Well I’m hungry again,” Niall whined. He had been putting away unfathomable amounts of food the past few days. Harry was _never_ one to judge someone based on their weight, but he was a little concerned as to _why_ Niall was suddenly upping his caloric intake.

 

“Niall, you need to relax with the food. At this rate, I won’t be able to stuff you in the cockpit anymore. I know you’ve always had a healthy appetite, but this is a level I haven’t seen from you before. Frankly it’s alarming. Is this about our reluctant recruit pals, Malik and Payne?”

 

“ _No!_ ” Niall scoffed. It was hardly convincing.

 

“Look, how about we invite them out on Saturday night, okay? Go to that bar in Thurso again. Maybe we can get to know them a little better, yeah? You can work your charm in a more laid back environment with alcohol aplenty to keep things flowing right along. Sound good?”

 

Harry could practically feel Niall’s smile. “You’re the best, mate.”

 

“I know. Now go get ready for the hop. I’ll see ya in pre-flight in a few minutes.”

 

“You got it, Sparrow. Later!”

 

Harry rolled his eyes as he finished rinsing out the suds from his unruly tangle of curls. He toweled off, but didn’t have the energy to fuss with his hair, so he opted to pull it up into a bun considering it was long enough for that now. It was just going under his stuffy helmet anyway. He quickly dressed in his flight gear and met Niall in the hanger to go over the specifics for the hop today.

 

“Wonder who we’ll have up there?” Niall asked quietly as Banshee talked about the engagement rules.

 

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. But I’ll tell ya this, Craic. We’re winning this one today.”

 

Niall nodded resolutely. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely.”

 

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

 

“Nothin’ on radar yet, Sparrow. No sign of any bogeys,” Niall informed him from behind as Harry flew along the coast keeping his eyes peeled for anything out of place. 

 

“They’ll show up soon enough,” Harry told him. “They always do.”

 

As luck would have it, Harry and Niall were flying with Chevron and Pak-Man today. Their assignment was to neutralize any targets in the area as if they were covering a carrier in hostile waters. Harry could see Chevron’s plane just off to the north, also patrolling the coast.

 

“Chev?” Harry called through the radio, “You seeing anything yet?”

 

It was Pak-Man who answered instead. “Negative. Something about this doesn’t feel right.”

 

“I’m gettin’ twitchy,” Niall commented. It was funny because up here, Niall’s previous anxiety over Chevron and Pak-Man’s reserved interactions was completely forgotten. Niall was all about the mission and that made communication imperative. It was all about the environment, Harry figured.

 

“Me too,” Chevron commented. “I think we should stick together on this one. I’ve got a feeling there’s more than just one of them out there. We can better take them out if we’re together.”

 

“Got it,” Harry said, pushing his throttle forward to coast at Chevron’s wing.

 

The second he got into formation, an A-4 zipped right below them. Banshee.

 

“Shit!” Chevron called. “You got him on radar, Pak?”

 

“Yea, he’s coming around from behind,” Pak-Man called back.

 

“I’ll take him down, you cover my wing, Sparrow,” Chevron ordered, instantly turning his plane upside down to change his direction and engage Banshee head on.

 

Harry narrowed his eyes. He hated taking second position to anyone. And he wasn’t about to take bloody _orders_ from a peer.

 

“Come on, Sparrow,” Niall said reluctantly, knowing where his mind - and ego - was at, “We need to cover him. Let’s just go.”

 

Harry reluctantly turned his plane around and followed Chevron into the fight. They were flying right toward one another, playing chicken, until Banshee pulled a hard right and raced out toward the sea.

 

“Fuck,” Chevron muttered, banking his own plane to pursue with Harry following. Chevron got into position behind Banshee and had him in perfect position to get a lock with Harry uselessly flying in his wake.

 

“This is bullshit,” Harry swore.

 

That’s when a new voice crackled over their radio. “Hello, lads. Don’t mind me, I’m just up here pigeon hunting. Seen any around?”

 

“Oh fuck!” Niall yelled. “That’s Rogue! Rogue is up here. Repeat…Rogue is here!”

 

“I don’t see him on radar,” Pak-Man shot back.

 

“I want him. He’s mine,” Harry muttered, tightening his grip on the yoke.

 

“You stay on my wing, Sparrow,” Chevron warned. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

 

Harry surveyed the situation, watched as Chevron closed in on Banshee. He had it under control. He didn’t need Harry. And Harry didn’t want to sit back and watch someone else earn the glory of the kill when he, himself, had been so starved for it the past week.

 

“You’re clear, Chevron. Take the shot. I’m going after Rogue.”

 

“Fucking Christ! Get back here, Sparrow!” Chevron fumed, but Harry was already peeling off in search of his vulture.

 

“Sparrow, this is a bad idea. I don’t like this,” Niall said, hitting the back of Harry’s seat. “Stay with Chevron. We’ll take out Banshee together and then go after Rogue. Don’t leave him.”

 

Chevron was still swearing through the radio, but Harry was too blinded by his need to get Rogue that he didn’t even hear him. Harry didn’t change course.

 

“Turn the fuck around, Sparrow!” Niall yelled, clearly agitated now.

 

“I’m the fucking pilot here,” Harry growled, not even recognizing his own voice. He didn’t speak to his RIO this way. He didn’t speak to _anyone_ this way. But he couldn’t stop himself. Couldn’t disengage. “I’m the one flying. Now you can either shut up and help me find Rogue or you can eject yourself.”

 

Niall went quiet on him, a sign of just how angry he was. But he read off coordinates to Harry about where he was picking up something on radar. “You do realize we’re gonna need to talk about this when we get back on the ground, right?” Niall asked, voice steely.

 

“Whatever. After we get Rogue.”

 

An A-4 ripped by Harry in a flash so fast Harry barely even saw it. “Jesus!” he yelled, hand pressed against the window as he craned his neck around to see where the bogey went.

 

“If we keep meeting like this, a lad might get the wrong impression, Pigeon,” Rogue called through the radio before going ghost again. “Always chasing after me, huh?”

 

“Fucking bastard,” Harry muttered, slamming on his thrust to change direction.

 

“He’s headed after Chevron,” Niall said as Harry finally got his plane around.

 

“Chev! Rogue’s incoming,” Harry said.

 

“Fucking hell, Sparrow! This is why I told you to _stay with me_! Banshee’s got my tail now. I need you here! Now!”

 

Everything was going to shit way too fast. Harry raced toward the attack, desperately trying to get back to Chevron to provide cover, but just as he was about to engage, Banshee got lock on Chevron.

 

“You’re done, boys,” Banshee called. “Back to base.”

 

Chevron could be heard swearing loudly until he cut his radio off entirely. Now Harry was in deep, _deep_ shit with two A-4s still out here and no wingman to provide any support.

 

“Motherfucker,” Harry cursed. This was probably the worst decision he had ever made in his entire career as a pilot. He knew better than this. He _knew_ never to leave his wingman. It was the most basic rule - the first bloody thing they taught in basic training - and he’d been so fucking consumed with the need to take down Rogue that he went rogue himself. Harry didn’t fly like this. He didn’t want to be this kind of pilot.

 

Before he could even think to get control of the situation, Rogue had him on radar lock.

 

“I’m having pigeon for dinner tonight,” Rogue said coolly. “When you’re out of your flight gear, meet me in my office. Stat.”

 

Harry unstrapped his mask and threw his head back against the seat. Niall didn’t say anything the entire way back to base, nor did he comment as Harry ripped off his flight gear and slumped down on the bench in the locker room. He didn’t need to say anything. Harry knew how disappointed he was. Harry was just as disappointed in himself.

 

Harry was about to apologize to Niall, but then Chevron stormed into the locker room with his RIO like a dark, ever watchful shadow behind him. Harry stood up immediately, sensing the impending argument based on the feral look in Chevron’s eyes.

 

“God damn-it, Sparrow!” Chevron shouted, shoving at Harry’s shoulders. “What the hell were you thinking up there! You left me! You left my fucking wing to go off on your own revenge mission against Rogue just because he’s a dick to you in class and you broke a major protocol of engagement. And because of it, I got fucked!”

 

“You had Banshee! You had the shot. You waited too long to take it!” Harry tried to defend himself, but he knew it was useless because no one was to blame except for Harry. His resistance was met by even more anger from Chevron.

 

“Because I had no bloody cover! I wasn’t going to engage when I had no one watching my six! You’re _dangerous_ up there. You only care about yourself. Doing what we do is already a death wish, but shit like what you just pulled today puts _everyone_ at risk. I won’t have you putting me and _my team_ at risk,” Chevron fumed, eyes quickly flickering to the RIO at his side who was staring down at the ground in silence with slumped shoulders, clearly uncomfortable in this confrontation. “You do your fucking job up there, or the next time you hear a tone, it’s going to be coming from me taking you out myself. And so help me, I’ll pull the trigger. You best pick a side, or I’m going to assume its against us. Got it?”

 

“Liam,” the quiet RIO finally said. He curled a gentle hand around Chevron’s bicep. It shouldn’t have been enough to hold the stronger, broader man back should he wish to instigate a physical fight with Harry, but it rooted him to his spot regardless. “Calm down. Let’s go chill out, yea?”

 

Chevron looked at Pak-Man for a few moments and the tension in his shoulders eased a touch. Then he nodded stiffly and followed his RIO away from Harry and Niall. It didn’t stop him from shooting a murderous look over his shoulder at them before he was out of sight.

 

“Well, we’ve certainly made an impression,” Niall sighed. “I don’t think they’ll be too keen to go out for a friendly pint on Saturday now.”

 

Harry let his body fall back down to the bench and put his head in his hands. “I know better than that. It was stupid. _I_ was stupid. I can promise you that I won’t let that happen ever again. I swear it.”

 

Harry looked up at Niall, eyes sincere and full of remorse. He needed to get Niall’s trust back. He couldn’t survive without it.

 

Niall let out a sigh and rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I know, mate. I know.”

 

Harry leaned into Niall’s touch and closed his eyes. “I’m going to forget all this shit with Rogue. I’m going to deal with it. I promise.”

 

Niall nodded again. “I know,” he repeated. “And there’s no time like the present. We’re expected in his office. Best not to keep him waiting.”

 

So week two wasn’t quite going much better than week one after all.

 

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

 

Harry and Niall stood outside Lt. Tomlinson’s office, waiting for him to meet them as requested. They only had a few minutes to wait before he marched down the hall fresh from his own shower and wearing his working uniform.

 

He gave them a sharp nod before leading them into his private office. Harry stood at attention, as he had been so diligently trained to do in the face of a superior, but inside his blood was boiling with guilt and shame. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to have a _reason_ to be here. And most of all, he didn’t want to hear whatever it was that Lt. Tomlinson was about to say. With how awful he already felt, he just wasn’t sure he could take any more abuse.

 

Lt. Tomlinson was quiet for a long minute as he observed Harry. “When I asked you to keep your ego last week, maybe that wasn’t quite the problem,” he opened. His voice was calm and collected and Harry was instantly on edge, because it was for once devoid of its usual sarcasm and sass.

 

“Sir,” he said, “I made a mistake today. I fully own up to it. I should have stayed with my wingman. It won’t be a mistake I make again, I assure you.”

 

Lt. Tomlinson narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t call you here to shred you for a shitty flight performance. I suspect you’re already doing that to yourself. I called you here because I have concerns about what you’re doing here in this program.”

 

Well, shit. That was worse, wasn’t it?

“I keep trying to figure you out, but I don’t think I’ve got it yet. There’s something about the way you fly that worries me,” Lt. Tomlinson continued. “It’s not your skill, because let’s be honest, you’re one of the best pilots out there, easily the best in this class from what I’ve seen so far. I think it has to do with _why_ you fly. So tell me, Sparrow. Why are you here? Why are you up there?”

 

“Because I want to be the best,” Harry instantly answered, voice even and chest up. It was the expected answer, the easy answer. “I want to save lives and protect my country. Same as any other pilot…Sir.”

 

Lt. Tomlinson shook his head with a small smile crossing his lips. “I don’t believe that for a second. Maybe one day you’ll feel like sharing the real reason. Also, I distinctly remember telling you not to call me Sir.”

 

Harry let his eyes drop down to the ground. “Yes, Si- uhh…I mean…yes, Rogue.”

 

Lt. Tomlinson chuckled. “Alright. You’re dismissed. Get out of here. And for Christ’s sake, I’ve got to at least say it once, don’t I? Don’t bloody leave your wingman again, alright? Don’t be a knob…you know better. Let that be the last time it needs to be said.” It was almost teasing, far too lighthearted for what Harry deserved.

 

As Harry and Niall were about to leave, too stunned to even give Lt. Tomlinson the customary salute, Banshee stormed into the office and blocked their exit.

 

“Ah. Good. Just the insolent idiots I was looking for,” he sneered.

  
Lt. Tomlinson held up a hand. “Commander Winston, I’ve already read them the riot act. No need for a repeat. They know it was a mistake and have assured me that it won’t be happening again. I think we can let it rest and not destroy the morale of our pilots any further, hm?”

 

Banshee took one look at Harry and Niall, face still red from anger, but he didn’t yell at them. Instead he just gave them a stiff nod and then left.

 

Harry looked back at Lt. Tomlinson, still reeling from this entire exchange. They held eyes for a long moment before Lt. Tomlinson rolled his and waved his hand toward the door. “I’ve already dismissed you. I’ve got things to do, let’s not be rude. Off you go.”

 

Harry and Niall left. They didn’t need to be told a third time.

 

When they got down to the locker rooms again, Niall turned toward Harry. “Well that was…weird.”

 

“Yea. Very, very weird.”

 

The rest of the day as he sat through his classes and then took his second hop - staying right the fuck next to his wingman every second they were in the air - one question kept playing over and over again in his mind.

 

_Why are you here? Why are you here? Why are you here?_

 

Harry didn’t have the answer…or maybe it was that Harry didn’t want to _know_ the answer.

 

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

 

Niall sat at the bar stuffing his face full of the free pretzels in the cracked glass bowl sitting in front of them. The bartender had already refilled it four times so far in the fifteen minutes they had been stationed here and each time had given them an increasingly irritated look. Niall’s stress eating was apparently back in full swing tonight.

 

“You sure they’re gonna be here?” Niall asked nervously scanning the bar, eyes surveying every crevice and dark corner. The eyes of a RIO were always moving, moving, moving, searching for a target.

 

Harry put his hand over Niall’s, stopping the next scoop of pretzels from being mindlessly stuffed into his face. “Yes. They’ll be here. I told Chevron I wanted to clear the air and offered a few drinks as repentance for Wednesday’s hop. He said he’d come. And he said he’d bring Pak-Man with him. They’re coming. Calm down.”

 

Niall nodded like a bobble-head but looked no less calm. Harry just sighed. He didn’t have a fucking clue why Niall had worked himself into such a tizzy about this whole thing with Chevron and Pak-Man.

 

Harry was about to ask him about it when the door to the pub swung open. Harry turned to look, expecting to see their fellow recruits, but instead it was Lt. Tomlinson who sashayed into the bar in form fitting and stylish civilian clothes, closely followed by Dr. Smith. Harry had figured out long ago that Dr. Smith was the woman who Lt. Tomlinson had been with that first night. Now they were arm in arm together, happily chattering away and laughing their heads off as the steered toward the bar.

 

Harry’s mood instantly darkened. Just marvelous. Already this was shaping up to be a wonderfully, magical night. And now he wasn’t going to be able to look anywhere besides Lt. Tomlinson’s arse for the entire night, because who could blame him when it was so nicely displayed in those fucking skin-tight black jeans. _Fuck_.

 

“There they are!” Niall chirped, smacking Harry’s knee under the bar. Harry had been too caught up in watching Mr. Killer Curves and Dr. Smith to notice that Chevron and Pak-Man had also entered the bar.

 

Pak-Man spotted them instantly - also having the keen eye of a RIO - and pointed in their direction. Chevron nodded and led him over in confident strides.

 

Harry stood and extended his hand. “Chevron. Pak-Man. Glad you could make it. We definitely owe you a few beers after this week. What are you having?” he asked.

 

Chevron shook his hand, grip firm, and merely said, “Dark Island. Fuller’s for Zayn.”

 

“I’ll get them. Craic? Why don’t you lead our guests to a table, okay?”

 

Niall gaped at him, eyes wide, but then pulled himself together and mumbled about something having to do with a juke box and the loo that made absolutely no coherent sense before leading the pair off towards the empty tables in the back.

 

For a Saturday night, the bar was a little less congested than it had been that first night, but there were still a fair number of patrons frequenting the place - mostly just pairs of people out for a pleasant evening on the town. The largest group aside from Harry and the rest of his fellow recruits was a gruff looking gaggle of men with wind hardened skin and burly facial hair. They pounded back alcohol and belched and smacked each others’ shoulders in an obscene display of maleness that made Harry wrinkle his nose. Still, they were fellow townspeople and Harry was all about good manners, so he gave them a smile and nodded to them when they looked his way. The men did nothing but sneer back at Harry and animatedly start talking amongst themselves in what was no doubt a mockery of him. Well, at least he’d tried.

 

He put them out of his mind and turned back toward the bar to wait for his drinks to be made. It put him in nearly the exact same position as two weeks ago, and of course also in the same spot were Lt. Tomlinson and Dr. Smith just down the bar. Lt. Tomlinson was already looking his way with a cheeky smirk when Harry put eyes on him. He seemed to mouth something at Harry, and it took him a second to realize that what Lt. Tomlinson had said was, “ _Pigeon_.” Harry clenched his jaw and Lt. Tomlinson laughed. Harry could hear it all the way down the bar.

 

Lt. Tomlinson raised his glass in the air toward Harry before taking a large sip that sent his Adam’s apple bobbing against his throat in a hot, visceral memory of that first night when all Harry had wanted to do was suck bruises into it. All of Harry’s previous irritation was wiped clean in that single second. It hit Harry like a sledgehammer, the sudden roar of lust - or was it longing? - that erupted in Harry’s chest. And then the moment was broken when Lt. Tomlinson directed his attention back to the beautiful brunette at his side. He wrapped his arm around Dr. Smith’s waist and ducked in to whisper in her ear, earning a bright, bubbling laugh and a pinch to his cheek in response. It was like whiplash. Harry was suddenly feeling nauseous with what he was seeing.

 

Harry might not be quite as enamored by the man as he’d been on the first night given all the lovely little reality checks that Lt. Tomlinson had since afforded him by way of what he deemed to be “constructive criticism,” but he couldn’t yet deny the fact that he was still very much physically attracted to him. The newfound problem - on top of the heap of others, the least of which being the fact that he was _Harry’s bloody instructor_ \- was that all of Harry’s pining might be a moot point if what he was seeing in front of him was to be taken at face value. Because from Harry’s perspective, what was happening across the bar from him looked very much like a date. Between Lt. Tomlinson and Dr. Smith. Between Lt. Tomlinson and a _woman_.

 

The realization was an ice-cold shock to Harry’s system. Oh my God. He had forced an identity on someone because of his own selfish desires, and here Lt. Tomlinson was, happily straight and apparently enjoying his straightness with a very attractive woman, and Harry was a complete and utter fool. He sifted through all his previous interactions with Lt. Tomlinson to see if there had been any clues, but when he really thought about it, the man had neither confirmed nor denied anything regarding his sexual preferences. Not that it would have even been appropriate to do so or that Harry had any business knowing anyway. There were no verbal or physical indications at all, aside from a few off color innuendos, which might have just been dropped for shock value to get Harry to back off. Could Harry have been wrong in his assumptions? Was there a technical malfunction in his gaydar after all? He was going to have to consult with Niall, someone with far better radar _and_ gaydar skills, as soon as possible. Niall and all his sources had to know _something_. Right? _Right?!_

 

The second the drinks were placed in front of Harry, he threw a few bills on the bar and collected all the drinks in his hands before dazedly marching back to the table that Niall had procured. He couldn’t look at Lt. Tomlinson. Not now. Not when Harry’s eyes would be filled with too much disappointment to hide.

 

When Harry got back to his table, Niall was sitting rigidly straight in the booth seat across from Chevron and Pak-Man, deathly silent and sheet white. Chevron and Pak-Man looked completely uncomfortable, eyeing Niall warily in matching expressions of confusion, and it became abundantly clear that Harry was going to have to carry the show tonight despite his own suddenly bitter mood. Fucking Niall.

 

“Lads!” he called out, excitement far too forced as he passed out the drinks. “What did I miss? What have we been talking about?”

 

Niall’s eyes went even wider. “Was I supposed to be talking about something?” he blurted out frantically. “Oh God. I didn’t know I was supposed to talk about something. You didn’t tell me to talk about something!”

 

_Good Christ…_

 

Chevron and Pak-Man were looking at him like he had totally lost his marbles. Harry figured it was a pretty apt judgement.

 

“Craic. Chill. Here’s your Guinness. Drink up and calm down,” Harry said. Niall put the drink back in an impressive display, but was no less jittery. The other pair across the table sipped slowly at their drinks as Harry took the other open seat next to Niall.

 

“So…” Harry began. “How have things been going at 1D for you lads so far?” Stupid question. Really, really pathetic opener. But Harry’s mind was far too wrapped up in trying to figure out how to deal with the fact that the man who had been the star of all his wet dreams of recent now more than likely played for the other team. It left very little room for social graces.

 

Chevron narrowed his eyes at Harry. “It’s probably going fairly similar to how things are going for you…you know…given we’re in all the same classes? Only difference is that we’ve got more points than you on hops.”

 

As if Chevron needed to remind Harry of that. Bastard. Why had he even agreed to this again anyway? Oh yeah. Fucking Niall - who could seemingly only manage to make his mouth work to open and close itself like a fish gasping for air out of water. Excellent.

 

“Yeah. It’s been rough so far, huh?” Harry said meekly, trying to keep conversation alive.

 

“Aerodynamics is the worst, by far,” Chevron supplied, and thank God for that. Harry had been fresh out of ideas, but now this was something he could at least comment on.

 

“Oh really? I actually kind of like that class. We’re doing okay there. Better scores than the other classes, even.”

 

Chevron eyed him suspiciously. “ _You_ are doing well in Aerodynamics? But Lt. Tomlinson is constantly berating you. How are _you_ getting good marks?”

 

Harry just shrugged. He was as baffled as the next bloke. Chevron only seemed to take this information and find more disdain for Harry because of it.

 

They fell into a silence that lasted a little too long to be comfortable before Harry abruptly stood up again. “Drinks. Um. I think we need refills. I’ll go get them,” he rushed to say.

 

Chevron and Pak-Man looked down at their own barely touched beers and Harry’s entirely untouched beer. Niall just squeaked in fright at being left alone with them again.

 

“Sure,” Chevron answered unsurely.

 

“Niall,” Harry pleaded. “Say something this time, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

 

He had to get away. He could not do this. Not even for Niall.

 

He raced clumsily back to the bar and ordered harder stuff this time. He had a feeling he was going to need it. “Four shots of whiskey, please. Doubles.”

 

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

 

Two hours later, Harry was absolutely legless, spinning in his own inebriation as Niall yapped away next to him in what could barely be considered English.

 

“So…so he says. He says, ‘Fuck you, paddy whacker!’ And then! Then I take this fist.” He held up his left fist proudly for show. “I take this little baby, and I fuckin’ shove it right through his teeth. Knocked his front two clear out! That’s what these scars are from, see ‘em?”

 

Pak-Man was kind enough to inspect Niall’s outstretched hand while Chevron looked flummoxed next to him at the whole story. Harry knew for a fact that it was a lie. The scars came from Niall accidentally smashing the radar screen of their first jet in flight school because it was malfunctioning, and Niall’s method for fixing anything was percussive maintenance.

 

“Sick,” Pak-Man said softly, releasing Niall’s hand. Niall lit up like a fucking jet engine at Pak-Man’s praise. 

 

He smiled dreamily at the quiet RIO. “Yeah. T’was.”

 

“More drinks,” Harry added to the conversation. “I’ll get ‘em.” It sounded pretty intelligible. Right? Yes. Definitely.

 

Chevron just shook his head. He was still working on his first beer. Gross. Said something about a bad kidney or whatever. Harry couldn’t quite remember. Then again, Harry couldn’t quite remember his own last name at this point.

 

“I’ll go,” Chevron said decisively.

 

“And I think it’s time for me to go for a smoke,” Pak-Man said, getting up with Chevron but heading in the other direction towards the back exit.

 

When Harry and Niall were alone, Harry turned toward Niall and buried his head in Niall’s shoulder, nuzzling in. “Niiiiaaallll. It hurts.”

 

“Whatryatalkinbout?” Niall asked blearily.

  
“M’heart. Ow.” Harry rubbed at his chest.

 

“Wha?”

 

“He’s not, Niall. He’s not like me.”

 

“Well duh! No one’s like you, Harry. You’re one of a kind, ya are! ’S why I love ya.” He planted a big, wet smooch on the side of Harry’s head.

 

Harry pouted. “No! Lieu…Lou…” Shit. Lieutenant was a really fucking hard word to say drunk. “Lieu Lou, ha!” Harry finally settled on. “He isn’t like me. He doesn’t like me.”

 

Niall frowned. “But it’s there!”

 

“What is?” Harry wrapped his arms around Niall’s neck to keep himself from colliding with the ground. He was feeling very much at risk of doing so.

 

“You know… _it!”_ That didn’t answer Harry’s question. Not at all. Why was Niall so dumb?

 

“I’ve got to take a piss,” Harry suddenly announced, all previous conversation wiped from his mind. He stood up, stumbling over his spaghetti noodle legs and felt Niall plant a firm hand on his bum to keep him upright.

 

“Oi! Hands off the goods, Horan!” he said, swatting ineffectively at Niall’s wayward hands.

 

Niall just cackled and slapped his arse for good measure. “Can’t help meself. Such a little peach on ya.”

 

Harry bent over and smacked his own kiss right on top of Niall’s sweaty bird’s nest of hair. Then he turned around to see about the loo and found himself pinned to his spot by a very angry pair of ice blue eyes across the bar. 

 

_He_ was looking at Harry. And he didn’t look happy. His eyes were burning so bright that Harry wondered if he was going to get a rash. His skin certainly felt hot and itchy. And his fucking cock? Ugh. Pissing wasn’t the only thing he was going to have to do in the bathroom. Probably not the first, even, based on how uncomfortably tight his pants were suddenly feeling.

 

He tore himself away from that look - because, well _fuck_ him! No…Harry _couldn’t_ fuck him! That was the whole problem - and staggered to the bathrooms.

 

Before he got there, something caught his attention. It was a door, propped open, leading out to what was probably a back alley. And just outside, Harry could hear a commotion. A very loud, very painful sounding commotion. Harry’s curiosity got the best of him, previous urges forgotten in a flash, and he stumbled toward the door, shoving it open and falling outside.

 

“Hey!” he yelled loudly when he saw what has happening. Because it was Pak-Man, being held upright by two of those burly wankers that had sneered at Harry earlier. And the barely conscious RIO was being viciously punched in the gut by another of the blokes. “What the fuck is this?” Harry slurred.

 

“Oh look! His little fairy friend! This one ain’t his boyfriend, though, lucky us,” the biggest of the men said, turning on Harry. “No matter. Grab him, lads. We’ll deal with him next. First let’s finish with this filthy Paki.”

 

Pak-Man mumbled something pitiful and went to kick out at his attackers, but was just met with a smack to the side of his face. An oozing drop of blood was trailing down from his nose and Harry lost it. How dare they. How fucking dare they hurt Zayn.

 

Harry lunged at the man trying to reach out to him, flattening him in an shocking display for how drunk Harry was. But he kept going, fueled by adrenaline and rage. He took down one of the men holding up Zayn, landing a kick to the man’s stomach that had him curling in on himself. Zayn easily freed himself from the other man and shoved him into the wall. Harry stared dumbly at him, impressed that someone so seemingly thin and delicate could produce that much force. 

 

“Check six!” Zayn yelled to Harry, and Harry spun around just in time to block a punch that had been aimed at the back of his head.

 

He delivered one of his own, landing right on target, and then he and Zayn were left the only ones standing in the alley as their assailants all lay whimpering at their feet.

 

“Fuck,” Harry muttered. He looked to Zayn, who was still in quite a state from his beating. “You okay, mate?”

 

Zayn nodded, stepping over one of the assholes on the ground to wrap a hand around Harry’s arm. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, eyes wide and earnest, wearing what could probably be classified as a smile despite the split lip. Harry smiled back at him and for a passing moment, Harry realized that he had finally cracked Zayn fucking Malik.

 

A voice broke their fond little exchange as the back door opened again. “What the fuck?” the thick Yorkshire accent said. Harry turned to see their instructor standing in shock as he took in the scene around him.

 

“Oops?” Harry tried timidly, giving him a shrug. He figured if there was ever a time to forgive himself for saying it, it was now.

 

“Again…what the _fuck_?”

 

Zayn thankfully took over because Harry had no fucking clue what the fuck just happened. He was still trying to figure it out himself. “These assholes jumped me. Were sayin’ some shit about me being a Paki and decided they wanted to show me just how welcoming this place is to people of foreign descent. Then Sparrow here showed up and went Hulk on them. Popped that one clear in the face. Took the rest down too with me. ‘Course it might have something to do with the fact that they were calling him a fairy. But either way, he saved me. We didn’t instigate it. I swear, Sir. We were just, like, protectin’ ourselves.”

 

Lt. Tomlinson took a second to survey the scene, and then he stooped down and grabbed one of the men by the back of his head, hands laced tight in his hair. He yanked his head up off the ground to the sound of a pitiful yelp.

 

“Is this true?” he asked the man, voice bitter and fierce. “Did you dare to assault members of this countries finest - men who, might I remind you, fight every single day to protect your sorry arses despite the fact you don’t deserve it? Did you dare to assault _my_ boys?”

 

The man just continued to pant pathetically. Lt. Tomlinson sneered at him and dropped his head in disgust. “Fucking racist homophobes. I’ve had my run-ins with this bunch before.”

 

“So…are we…are we in trouble?” Zayn asked.

 

“What? Because you knocked around a couple of useless drunks who don’t respect fellow human beings? Not in my book. I say good on you. Fuckin’ right on. Off the record of course.”

 

Zayn smirked. Harry just gaped. He was currently using the wall to support himself because he wasn’t quite sure his legs were up to the task.

 

Lt. Tomlinson turned his attention to Harry. “You,” he said. “You should get home. You’re in no condition to handle any more trouble.”

 

“Can handle myself just fine,” Harry slurred. “Just did. See?”

 

Lt. Tomlinson rolled his eyes. “Yes. I see, you barbarian. Now let’s get you back inside.”

 

He reached out and wrapped his and around Harry’s arm and tugged him forward until Harry crashed into him. “M’spinning,” Harry told him helpfully.

 

“I’ll bet,” Lt. Tomlinson said back, tightening his grip that was now around Harry’s waist.

 

“What about them?” Zayn asked, and Harry had entirely forgotten about the crew of thugs that were still in the alley.

 

“Ah. Leave ‘em. They’ll crawl back into whatever hole they came form, and I’ll have Bob ban ‘em from the bar once and for all. It’s been a long time coming. Believe me.”

 

Zayn flanked Harry’s other side as they made their way slowly back into the bar. As soon as they were in sight, both Niall and Chevron came racing over.

 

“What the hell happened!?” Chevron asked, voice agitated in a way that it never had been before. Harry had heard him angry, but now he just sounded scared. “Zayn! What the fuck happened? I get back to the table and you’re still gone and I couldn’t find you and…and is that…is that fucking _blood_ on your face?! Did you get punched?!”

 

Zayn was quick to shove Chevron’s hands away from his face. “I’m fine, Li. We’ll talk about it later. Let’s just go.”

 

“No!” Chevron protested. “And why in the bloody hell is one of our instructors practically carrying Sparrow through the bar? Tell me now!”

 

Zayn took a deep breath. Harry just leaned more heavily into Lt. Tomlinson. God he smelled good.

 

“Some arseholes jumped me. Same shit as usual, about my race and that. Harry came out and put an end to it. That’s all. Lt. Tomlinson came in after the fact and helped get us back here.”

 

Chevron’s jaw clenched in anger. “Where are they?” he asked, fists shaking at his side. He was already looking around Zayn toward the direction they had just come from.

 

“Liam. I said it’s fine. Harry took care of it. He took care of me. I’m okay.” He reached out a hand and placed it on Chevron’s cheek. It was as if Chevron instantly deflated in that single motion, all the tense air leaving his body. He reached a hand up and wrapped it around Zayn’s wrist. Then he turned his eyes toward Harry.

 

“Thank you. I owe you for protecting my Zayn…um…I mean…for protecting my RIO. Thank you.” He was clearly uncomfortable, but Zayn just smiled fondly in encouragement.

 

Harry shook his head. “No. I watch out for my wingmen. Like I should have done before. We’re good.” 

 

And then Chevron smiled at him too. Harry really must be good at this friendship thing. Niall was  just an amateur, clearly.

 

“Alright. If the bro fest is over, I suggest you boys scatter. Don’t want to be around when those dicks back there scrap themselves off the pavement and come looking for revenge,” Lt. Tomlinson said. 

 

Niall was quick to switch positions with Lt. Tomlinson, and Harry really wanted to whine and latch onto the previous body he had been wrapped around like a koala. So warm, so soft, so sweet. Niall was all bones, and he smelled like hot wings and stale beer.

 

“Are you coming?” Niall asked Lt. Tomlinson once he had a firm grip on Harry. That thought cheered Harry right up. Yes. He would very much like Lt. Tomlinson to come. He would very much like to _make_ Lt. Tomlinson come. God. Now he was hard again.

 

“I’m an instructor, mate. Wouldn’t be right for me to be seen with all of you stumbling back to base. Professional distance and all that. But you’re good, right? You’ve got it from here?” Lt. Tomlinson said with a worried frown.

 

“Yea, we can manage,” Chevron said, hovering close to Zayn. He gave Lt. Tomlinson a salute, which Lt. Tomlinson proceeded to scoff at. “Thanks again, Sir.”

 

Their little band of the bleary and beaten turned to leave the bar, but a sudden thought sprang to Harry’s mind. He yanked out of Niall’s arms despite his protest and wheeled around unsteadily to face Lt. Tomlinson again. 

 

Lt. Tomlinson watched him in amusement before waving his hand at the rest of the group waiting nearby as if to ask for a little privacy.

 

“Yes?” he finally asked when they were alone.

 

“You're not…you’re not going to report this…are you, Sir…um…Lieu…Lieutenant?” Harry asked cautiously, mind still spinning. Even in his wrecked state, he knew he couldn’t afford a mistake like this. He was already barely hanging onto his spot at 1D by the skin of his teeth. Something like this was bound to push him right over the edge. And he really didn’t want to get the rest of his new friends in trouble. He wasn’t usually like this. Protective, yes. Violent, no.

 

Lt. Tomlinson smirked. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t see a thing.” He paused for a few moments and then his face was a little more sincere. “You did the right thing, anyway. You looked after your own. Can’t blame you for that. And for the record, and yet another reminder, when you see me around outside of 1D, you don’t always have to address me so formally. Makes me uncomfortable. You can stick to Rogue, if you want. Or…or I guess you can call me Louis. I’m fine with that too.”

 

Harry couldn’t process it. He just stared blankly at Lt. Tomlinson… _Louis._ Jesus. He was far too drunk for this. Never drinking again. Ever.

 

“Louis,” Harry said, trying out the word. He liked it. He liked the way it sounded, even more the way it tasted.

 

Louis smiled and looked down at the ground, hands jammed deep in his pockets and rocking back and forth between his toes and heels. “That’s me name. Don’t wear it out,” he said, as if his default response to anything personal was always to make an immature joke of it, brush it off. It wasn’t a joke to Harry. It was a big fucking deal. It was a sign of trust that he wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed to earn. But he wasn’t going to question it, and he definitely _was_ going to wear the name out, repeating it over and over and over in his head until it was worn smooth like a river rock under the current.

 

“Good night, Louis. And…and you can call me Harry. M’names Harry.”

 

Louis just shook his head, but he was smiling and his eyes were crinkling just the way Harry liked them best. “Yes. I remember. See ya around, Harold.”

 

Harry pouted, but he figured it was at least something. He clambered away from Louis and headed for the door, barreling into Niall who was eagerly waiting on the other side of it.

 

“Whatidhesay?” Niall was instantly on him. “Tell me!”

 

“Said we’re not in trouble.” That was the important part, anyway. But not quite the most important.

 

Niall sighed. “Alright, well let’s go. Gonna be a long walk back.”

 

Slowly, so slowly, the four lads stumbled and staggered their way back to base, but the entire trip was spent talking animatedly and laughing at their pitiful situation. By the time Harry crashed into his - Niall’s - bed about an hour later, he realized that he had just made two new mates. He didn’t know how it happened, or why, or when exactly the change occurred from heartless competition to drinking buddies, but it did. Harry couldn't be happier. And Niall was even more over the moon. The floodgates had busted wide open, and now Niall couldn't shut up around their new friends. He couldn’t shut up _about_ them either.

 

“War Machine is the best, isn’t he? Real stand up bloke. And God. If I batted in your line-up, mate, I’d totally go for the Bradford Bad Boi.” A new awful nickname that had been created along the path to friendship. Niall was all about the nicknames. “He’s dreamy.”

 

Harry just giggled, mushing himself in against Niall’s side. “Nope.”

 

“Ah, got your head too far up The Tommo’s arse to recognize a hot bloke when ya see one.”

 

Harry didn’t like that nickname. He liked _Louis_ better. Or maybe…or maybe Lou. Yea. _Lou_.

 

“Do not,” he protested weakly. “Toldya, he didn’t like me anyhow. He’s not like me.”

 

Niall paused for a long moment. Harry pawed at his chest like a kitten trying to get comfortable. 

 

Finally Niall spoke up. “You didn’t see the way he looked when you got up to go to the bathroom, mate. Jesus, the way you looked was sinful enough. Looked like you were about to go have a wank in there or something.” He had been. “And that lad, he looked like he would have liked to join you. Or at least punch me right in the face. Trust the Nialler on this one.”

 

And that was strange, wasn’t it. Because it made Harry realized that Louis…no, _Lou_ …had no reason to be in that back alley when the fight broke out. Unless…unless he had followed someone there. Unless he had followed _Harry_ there. And the alley certainly hadn’t been Harry’s original destination. That was the blurry thought that crossed his mind right before it was wiped away into unconsciousness, and when he woke up the next morning, he had completely forgotten all about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for a little OT5! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! You're the best, and I'm trying to get these chapters cranked out as fast as I can for you.
> 
> As always, feel free to comment below or say hello on Tumblr (RealityBetterThanFiction)!
> 
> Cheers!


	5. Premier Delta - Week Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niall takes on a new (secret) mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies about the delay! In repentance, this chapter is about as long as the entire four previous chapters combined, so I hope you can forgive me!
> 
> Trigger Warning: Mild description of previous racial violence so if it upsets you, please do not read. Message me and I can update you on what happened.
> 
> IMPORTANT!!!! As one of you lovely readers pointed out, Louis’ rank as Lieutenant Commander would grant him the prefix LCDR instead of LT, and as such he would be addressed as Commander Tomlinson and not Lieutenant Tomlinson by his fellow service men. From here on out, I will use that title to be accurate, and I just wanted to comment on it here to clear up any confusion. I will of course go back to change it earlier in the story once the rest of this gets finished. I cringe to think about all the other mistakes I’ve made (and probably will make) in this story, because I would never ever intend to offend anyone in the services or who has family/friends in the services. What they do for our countries is an incredibly brave sacrifice, and they deserve all the respect they can get. Never forget to thank them for what they do.
> 
> So this one goes out to Sam (Thanks!!!!).
> 
> Thanks and enjoy!
> 
> Mood Music
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABavfazPTjo  
> Playing with the Boys - Kenny Loggins
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PyxLaHmOaYM  
> Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay - Otis Redding
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fUis9yny_lI  
> Take My Breath Away - Berlin

**RealityBetterThanFiction's Crash-Course to Aviation:**

Immelmann - An agressive maneuver that results in a 180 degree turn of direction to engage an oncoming lower altitude attacker by gaining a better attack position.

G-force - Force of gravity acting on an object, basically the force of acceleration (1g = object sitting at rest on Earth's surface). Most fighter pilots are trained to be able to tolerate 7-8g through extensive physical training and use of specialized equipment. Most of us normal folk can only tolerate about 5g (probably less...at least for wimps like me) without passing out. For reference, a roller coaster would probably be about 2-3 g.

G-suit - A specialized flight suit that helps pilots withstand high positive G-force by inflating and pumping blood from the lower body up to the torso and head to keep a pilot conscious during a dogfight. Yes, they are at risk for passing out in their plane...pretty scary.

Beretta - A type of firearm that is standard issue for many law enforcement and military personnel.

 

 

Story starts below...Enjoy!

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

“Plane one performs an Immelmann and goes to immediate guns on the bogey at a range of…twelve meters? Have you lost your God-damned mind?” Commander Tomlinson asked, slapping the assignment down on Harry’s desk.

 

“No, Sir. Not that I can recall,” Harry replied, trying so desperately not to stand up and smack the sneer right off Commander Tomlinson’s face. Just another day in Aerodynamics. Monday afternoons were always enjoyable. It was week three now, and Harry didn’t know how much more of this he was going to be able to take before he had a full on mental breakdown.

 

“Well then you’re certainly not using it to fly. Because _this_ shit,” he smacked his hand over the paper again in disgust, “is going to get you fucking killed up there.”

 

Harry nodded, but inside he was absolutely fuming. The thing was, it wasn’t a bad move. There had been a lot of worse options suggested by his classmates as they compared proposed schematics for the situations that Dr. Smith had outlined on the board. Commander Tomlinson hadn’t had a reaction like this to those poorly planned schematics. He’d merely waved them aside with a bored hand and said, “Try again.”

 

But for Harry? He had to take his daily pound of flesh.

 

“What were you possibly thinking with this move?” Commander Tomlinson asked incredulously.

 

Harry took a deep breath. “I was thinking that if I didn’t go on the offensive I was going to get both me and my wingman gunned down. It’s an aggressive move. Yes. But it’s not something we aren’t trained to do. I don’t see another way with the bogey in that position. The plane can handle the maneuver being inverted with the engine power and design. It would pull a few G's, but the pilot would be able to remain conscious under that G-force if they were wearing the proper G-suit. It would effectively take down the enemy. And after seeing their comrade get blown to bits with a move like this, whatever bogeys were left would probably bug out not wanting to be next.”

 

Commander Tomlinson leaned over Harry’s desk and got right up in his face. “Just in case it slipped your mind in this wonderful display of how big your balls are, the piece of equipment you are using to bang your chest and scare off your opponents like a damned Gorilla is thirty million euros. Unless you are independently wealthy and merely joined the Navy as a whim to pass the time before your trust fund comes to fruition, you don’t have the kind of money to replace your plane when you inevitably wreck it with this kind of stunt. Save the tax-payers from having to pay for your idiocy, and do the damn assignment again, with a little more attention to saving your own arse this time, hm? The proper thing to do in this case would be to go on the defensive and retreat. Save your plane. Save your life.”

 

Everyone was watching Harry, staring in shock as Commander Tomlinson brushed Harry’s papers off his desk and onto the floor. He sauntered off back to the front of the room as if he hadn’t just made a complete fool of Harry and ridiculed him in front of all his peers.

 

This had been going on for three weeks now. Harry’d had enough.

 

Harry felt Niall subtly kick his shin, as if he knew exactly what Harry was about to do. Harry stood up from his desk and carefully collected his papers. Commander Tomlinson turned around sharply and watched Harry stooped down to the ground, eyeing him curiously.

 

When Harry stood again, he aligned the papers of his assignment and walked them right back up to Commander Tomlinson’s desk. He set them down on top of the pile ready to be picked apart and graded.

 

“With all due respect, this is the schematic I’d like to hand in for grading. I stand by my decision and will take whatever penalty you see fit. But it’s not a bad move. Also, for the record, I’m a fighter pilot, not a gorilla, although we still may share the same size balls.”

 

Harry turned away from the desk and marched back to his seat. When he sat down, Niall was beaming proudly at him. He leaned forward and whispered in Harry’s ear. “Gutsiest move I ever saw, mate. But if we’re talking about records, I’ve seen your balls enough times to know they are definitely not the size of a silverback’s. Nice try.”

 

“It was for the effect, Craic. Added to the drama,” Harry shrugged, but he was still smiling.

 

When he looked back up at the front of the room, Commander Tomlinson was watching him with a smirk. “Alright, alright, enough patting yourself on the back, Pigeon. Don’t want to dislocate your shoulder so you can’t scratch those massive balls of yours.” He turned to Dr. Smith. “Next schematic on the projector, please.”

 

An hour later after they had sat for a test on the day’s material, Dr. Smith handed back the schematics that Commander Tomlinson had graded while they were testing. When Harry got his back - the one that had been claimed to come from a mental lapse - he noted the big, red 100% scrawled across the top. Beneath it were the words, “ _Used this exact move in Yemen. Worked like a charm. We might make a pilot out of you yet, Pigeon. Just don’t let those balls of yours get too big_.”

 

Harry tucked the paper into his bag with a smile. Things might still suck here. He might still feel like everything he did was a failure. But this paper was proof that he’d at least gotten one thing right. Week three was going to be his turning point, Harry just knew.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

  
It became abundantly clear over the course of the week that Niall Horan was a man on a mission. A very, very secret mission that unfortunately seemed to have everything and nothing to do with Harry. All Harry knew was that something about his cheery, blonde RIO was different, and that no matter how hard Harry pressed, Niall had no intention of letting him in on this secret endeavor. From the lowest of lows to the highest of highs, week three found the irreverent Irishman the happiest lad in the northern hemisphere…and that instantly made Harry the most anxious man in the northern hemisphere. Because Niall on a secret mission was never a good sign.

 

The week started off slow. In fact, Harry barely even realized that something was afoot, because the signs weren’t all that different than normal, to be honest. Just… _more_.

 

For example, Niall _normally_ sat at Harry’s side in class. But had he _always_ sat so bloody close before? He was practically in Harry’s lap now, constantly scraping his chair closer and closer across the floor until he was shoulder to shoulder with his pilot and wafting his beef and barley scented breath down Harry’s neck.

 

And Niall was _normally_ generous with physical contact, a tactile sort of person who genuinely liked being in the close company of others. But now it felt like he _always_ had to be touching Harry, draped over his shoulder or lounging with his head in Harry’s lap during breaks, just always on him in some way.

 

Then there were the bloody public displays of affection. Those were the most baffling. Niall liked cuddles as much as the next bloke, but now it seemed that whenever anyone walked in the room, Niall all but _launched_ himself at Harry, hanging from him like a damned exhibitionist koala. He was even doing it in front of the instructors now, which had earned them all kinds of strange looks from their superiors. Not even Zayn and Liam, who were in an _actual_ relationship - or so Harry surmised since they never explicitly defined it for anyone - weren’t this physically close.

 

Harry and Niall had always had a special type of bromance, but this was just weird. It was very, very weird and Harry’d had about enough evasive maneuvering from his Irish pal. He wanted answers, and he wanted them _now_. He just hadn’t yet figured out what leverage to use against Niall to get him to start talking. Withholding food was Harry’s usual method, but Harry knew that Niall and all his _sources_ would just find a way around it. After all, Niall had certainly gained two new sources since Saturday’s eventful (and sexually frustrating…at least for Harry) night at the bar.

 

That was another side effect of the extra blond and clingy appendage Harry had recently sprouted. Since Niall had all but surgically attached himself to Harry’s side, that meant that Harry was now spending most of his time with Liam and Zayn by extension. Niall and Zayn had become fast pals over the course of the week, chattering at one another and trading tricks of the trade like they had been lifelong mates. In the three weeks Harry had known Zayn, he’d never seen the lad talk as much as he had been talking to Niall the past few days. Niall followed Zayn around like a puppy - of course physically dragging Harry with him - and Zayn graciously indulged Niall’s pointless prattle with all the patient fondness of someone dealing with a troublesome yet hopelessly adorable pet. Of course the indivisible friendship between Niall and Zayn guaranteed the presence of Liam, since he was about as reluctant to leave Zayn’s side as Niall was to leave Harry’s.

 

Despite their near constant presence in one another’s lives, Harry could tell that Liam was still not completely won over yet, still guarded and prone more to observe proceedings than truly be a part of them. Harry had caught Liam watching him on numerous occasions, brows pinched in deep thought as if he was still trying to figure Harry out. It was clear he didn’t fully trust Harry yet, both on the ground and up on hops, but Harry knew he was on the right path, and that it would just take a little bit more time and patience. He respected that Liam made him work for it, even though he couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy around Liam whenever the other lad got that pensive look on his face. Still, Liam kept hanging around, and that had to count for something, right? Harry just had to keep selling himself as being mate-worthy, hoping that Niall’s lovable nature might help boost Harry’s case by association. Even Liam, as stoic as he was, was no match for Niall’s charm.

 

So that was how Harry found himself suddenly part of the tightest little foursome here at 1D…and for his part, he found he wasn’t even the least bit bothered by it…except for the burning curiosity about Niall’s sudden obsession with all things Harry-related. _That_ had to be stopped, or Harry was going to accidentally push Niall off the carrier next week when they finally took their training out to the water like real Navy pilots. He just needed some alone time. That wasn’t too much to bloody ask, was it? Because no _alone_ time meant no _wank_ time, and Harry was at his absolute wit’s end. Having to watch Commander Louis fucking Tomlinson and his incredible fucking arse strut around the hallways or pose with a hip cocked against his desk at the front of class while not being able to get himself off was wrecking havoc on Harry’s libido.

 

Yea…so Harry still hadn’t really dealt with the whole wanting to shag his instructor thing yet. There was that to be panicked about too in addition to all this secret spy shit going on with Niall.

 

That was why Harry was currently on a secret mission of his own, practically sprinting down the hallway toward the locker room after having slipped away from Niall a few minutes ago in a brilliant scheme that involved Harry telling Niall they were giving away free food in the cafeteria this afternoon. All Niall had to hear were the words _free_ and _food_ in conjunction with one another before he was headed in the direction that would promise such a miracle.

 

Harry figured it would buy him a good ten minute window to barricade himself in the locker room and have a furious and desperately needed orgasm.

 

Unfortunately it seemed Niall was not the only one trying to sabotage Harry’s lonely sex life with his own right hand.

 

“Hey! Sparrow!” someone called down the hallway, quickly approaching Harry. Harry could not repress the groan that ripped from his very soul…or more accurately his loins.

 

“Hi Ging,” Harry pouted, trying his best to smile at Lt. Sheeran, because he really did like the bloke. He just really didn't like the fact that he was cutting into Harry’s precious wank time. No matter, though, at this rate Harry would probably fire off the second he touched his dick, so he could afford a few minutes of pleasantries…as long as that was _all_ it was.

 

“What’ve you been up to?” Ginger asked casually, all bright smile and even brighter hair.

 

_Oh you know, trying to figure out why my best mate is suddenly trying to crawl into my skin with me, and why I’m so hot for one of our instructors that I’m literally sporting half an erection at all hours of the day and night without being able to control myself, knowing full and well that he is 1) completely off limits because of the fact that he is…you know…an instructor and 2) completely straight and probably in a relationship with another of our instructors. Oh. And lets not forget the fact that I am basically one wrongly timed fart away from being thrown out of this program, because I am fucking everything up due to said previously mentioned crush on our instructor. So…the usual proceedings here at good old Premier Delta._

 

“Not much,” Harry answered.

 

“I don’t believe it for a second,” Ginger said, “what with your RIO being Horan. Man’s a walking three ring circus on skinny little chicken legs. He could sniff out trouble in the middle of a fuckin’ cabbage field. And you’ve been hanging with Chev and Pak too lately. They’re a strange pair, I’ll tell ya that, but they seem cool enough. Hell, if Craic likes ‘em then they must be good people, right?”

 

Harry nodded and slyly looked down at his watch. Eight minutes and thirty three seconds.

 

Ginger apparently didn’t need Harry to comment on what he’d just said, because he was continuing right on, “Oh! That reminds me. I overheard Commander Tomlinson telling the Captain about what happened to Pak-Man. You know, his face? He’s got a shiner like a Dalmatian spot over his eye and a busted lip. You’ve been spending loads of time with him and Chev, I’m sure you’ve noticed. Well anyway, Commander Tomlinson said Pak-Man got hurt in the weight room while they were working out together. He and Commander Tomlinson were apparently sparring together in the boxing ring when Pak got distracted and Commander Tomlinson accidentally clipped him a good one right to the old money maker. You buy that?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry instantly replied, because if that was what Commander Tomlinson had decreed to be the truth, there was no way Harry would counter it. Harry found himself fumbling on to sell the story, because it didn’t look like Ginger was entirely convinced. Harry couldn’t blame him. Harry worked out everyday and had never once seen Zayn step foot in the weight room, seemingly just as adverse to the concept as Niall. It was one of the rare few times during the day when Niall wasn’t on Harry’s hip, but that didn’t mean Harry was alone. Liam was always willing to tough out a good sweat in the gym while Zayn and Niall waited just outside hitting the books…or probably just shooting the shit. Harry was banking on his and Liam’s shared enthusiasm for dripping sweat to help bond them together. So far it wasn’t really all that successful considering Liam never spoke to him during their sessions. “I saw Malik on the bags the other day when I was working out. Not the best boxer, so I’m not surprised. And its not hard to imagine that Rogue boxes like he flies.”

 

Ginger chuckled and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. So they were clear on that front, no one the wiser about what had happened Saturday and effectively out of trouble. It seemed that despite all the complication that Louis was unknowingly creating in Harry’s life, he was at least good for his word. Harry would have to eventually suck it up and speak to him at some point to thank him. He still didn’t quite understand why Louis would look out for them like that when he was duty bound to punish them for their irresponsible antics at the bar, but Harry wasn’t willing to question it. Underneath all the bravado and snarky attitude, maybe there might be some good in Louis after all. Hopefully. Maybe. Probably not. He was probably just filing that information away to be used at a later date to hold over Harry’s head in some way. Based on his track history with the man, that option seemed far more likely than Louis suddenly growing a tender heart.

 

All of that just made him think about Louis again, which meant that he now had five minutes and fourteen seconds left.

 

“Well as nice as it’s been catching up, I really must be going. Nature calls.” Wanking was natural, right?

 

Ginger slapped him on the back. “Right, man. Good talkin’ to ya. See ya in class. Maybe this weekend we could hit the pub, yeah?”

 

Nope. Harry was never going back to that bloody pub _ever_ again. Not ever.

 

“Sure thing. See ya later!” Harry told him. Who was he kidding, Niall, the newfound spider monkey, would force him to go anyway. There was no use fighting.

 

Once Ginger was a few paces away, Harry was back to his mad dash to the locker room…only to be stopped yet again. Was _everyone_ in the United Kingdom trying to give him a nasty case of blue balls?!

 

Four minutes and thirty nine seconds.

 

“Sparrow, I’m glad I caught you,” Dr. Smith said, stopping Harry in place with a gentle smile and flip of her silky chocolate brown hair. Harry was going to fucking _die_.

 

“Dr. Smith,” he choked out, subtly angling his books in front of his lap.

 

She clicked over to him on her kitten heels, the sound of her foot falls echoing down the hallway. “I’ve really been meaning to speak with you privately the past few days about your performance here at Premier Delta, but I just haven’t had the chance. Do you have a few minutes?” she asked, face open and sincere.

 

“Of course! Sure! Yeah! Absolutely!” Harry squeaked. Too much. Far too much.

 

“Wonderful. Follow me.”

 

Harry looked back at the doors to the locker room, the promised land just visible down the hall, and whimpered as he adjusted himself slyly behind Dr. Smith’s back. Then he was trudging after her like he was being led to the stockade.

 

Once inside her small, utilitarian office, she gestured to the black leather arm chair in front of her desk. Harry was still standing in the doorway in his rigid military posture, at perfect attention. She just smiled gently at him. “Please. At ease, Lieutenant. This is an informal discussion. No need for…all of that.” She made a silly mocking salute that had Harry smiling at how ridiculous it looked coming from her.

 

Harry sat down in the seat and Dr. Smith perched on the edge of the desk. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m very impressed with your course work. You and your RIO have been turning in nothing but exemplary assignments in all the classes here. Very impressive…”  
 Here it was. Harry was waiting for the “but” to drop like an anvil in the middle of this too-tidy and too-orderly office, smashing all his dreams right beneath it.

 

“And your flying…” she continued as Harry waited with downcast eyes. The pause seemed to last forever as Harry hung in limbo waiting on her next words. “There’s real genius in your flying, Sparrow,” she finally finished. And that…that was _not_ what Harry had been expecting. Harry had been doing pretty much the exact _opposite_ of genius flying every since stepping foot on Fort Acaiseid. “I know you think you’re struggling, but its just the way of things here. I don’t think you’ll ever feel like you’re winning until you’ve suddenly won.”

 

She paused, considering her words, and then said, “Louis…um…I mean Commander Tomlinson agrees, even though he may not be quite so forthcoming about it based on what he says to you in class. I know he’s pushing you hard, but I assure you it’s because he thinks you have what it takes.”

 

Had Harry stepped into a parallel universe? _Louis_ commending his flying? Commander Louis Tomlinson? The same person who happily tore off pieces of Harry’s hide every single day?

 

Dr. Smith seemed to be able to tell what Harry was thinking, because her kind smile turned into a smirk. With a perfectly manicured nail, she slid her glasses down the bridge of her nose so she could look over them at Harry. “I’ve known Louis for a long time now, and I have very rarely seen him like this with a trainee or fellow pilot. You should take that as a compliment, Sparrow, because God knows you probably won’t get a real one from him. Louis’ not one to blow smoke…unless its from a cigarette, and that’s only when he’s stressed.”

 

Her smile grew fond again talking about him, and that suddenly made Harry remember that he was currently not only talking to one of Louis’ co-instructors, but likely also his partner outside of this school as well. His _girlfriend_.

 

Now Harry’s erection had completely flagged. Unrequited longing had a funny way of crushing all physical desire.

 

The problem was that Harry couldn’t even muster any feelings of bitterness for Dr. Smith. She was a strikingly beautiful woman. She was brilliant beyond measure. And as if all of that wasn’t enough, she was probably the nicest person on this entire base. Even in class, she was tough, but never mean. Harry knew she genuinely wanted to help all of them be the best pilots they could be, and she often tempered and reigned in the other instructors - like Louis - who sometimes tended to go overboard in their efforts. She was about as perfect as a woman could be. The sinking feeling in Harry’s stomach just wouldn’t lift no matter how much he told himself that he was happy that Louis had such a wonderful person in his life…even if he didn’t deserve it most days, the sarcastic little snark.

 

“If I may be frank,” Dr. Smith continued, “I worry about you taking things too much to heart when it comes to Louis…um…Commander Tomlinson. I’m sorry, that habit is hard to break.”

 

Harry knew. Ever since Louis had told him to use his real name, Harry had been doing just that in his head. It was all he could do to remember to flip the switch when he got to base to maintain the proper respect and order of things around here. Commander Tomlinson was his instructor. Rogue was his nemesis. And Louis…Louis wasn’t his anything.

 

“I know how hard you’re trying, and I know that sometimes you feel that you need to take risks to stand out in this crowd. But you don't need to do that. All you need to do is keep flying your way, Harry. Sometimes gripping the yoke too tight causes it to slip through your fingers. That’s Louis’ biggest concern with you. That’s the only thing he’s said could be your downfall. He’s pushing you, but he doesn’t want to change you. Do you understand?”

 

“I understand,” Harry immediately told her.

 

“Good. If you ever need to talk with someone about any of this, please don’t hesitate to ask Louis. I know he’s difficult, but he’s not a monster. I think he’d understand better than you think. You see, Louis and I go way back. We’ve known each other for a _very long_ time. We’ve always looked out for one another. He helped encourage me to break through some of the glass ceilings I’ve faced in this profession as a female, and in turn, I’ve always tried to help keep Louis from falling prey to his own devices. When he announced he had accepted the position here at Premier Delta that they had been begging him to take for ages, I was thrilled. I thought it would be nice to work together. I thought it might help.”

 

So all had not been well on the homestead, apparently. Harry knew how hard it was to maintain any kind of stable relationship as a member of the military, especially one with as demanding a job as a Naval aviator. It was why Harry’s closest relationship was with his bloody plane. And why before that, Harry hadn’t _ever_ had a close personal relationship at all. It was a solitary life he led in this occupation, apart from having Niall. He didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t have Niall. Between his friendship with Niall and Harry’s own right hand to satisfy the rest, Harry had been okay. Not great, but okay.

 

Harry knew she was waiting for him to say something, so he did the best he could, tried for the safest topic that would throw her off from asking any more questions about how he was surviving here. He didn’t want to tell her just what a poor job of it he was doing.  “What made Commander Tomlinson finally accept the position? What changed his mind?”

 

Dr. Smith turned her head to the side and observed him carefully while she thought of her answer. Finally she settled on, “That’s not really my story to tell. You should ask him about it someday. Maybe he’ll tell you. Maybe it would be good for you to hear it…and for him to tell it.”

 

Harry didn’t quite understand any of that. “At the risk of overstepping my boundaries, wasn’t Commander Tomlinson one of the best pilots to ever graduate from this program? Hasn’t he been part of some really critical missions since then? I mean, most of them are classified in the archives, so they must be a big deal. Without being condescending, why would he come back and teach _here_? Wouldn’t he rather be…you know… _saving the world_?”

 

Dr. Smith just smiled amusedly at that, so Harry figured he wasn’t in trouble for his statements, as blunt as they’d been. “Don’t let Louis hear you say that. He’s been waxing poetic about how melding the minds of young pilots is his real calling in life and a much better way to ‘ _save the world_ ,’ as you put it, than shooting down a couple of bogeys.”

 

“But he’s the best,” Harry countered.

 

Dr. Smith nodded. “And even the best have their demons. Don’t forget that. We all have our demons, Harry, but we shouldn’t be judged for them. They are as much a part of us as our dreams. The only difference is that demons need to be battled and tamed in order to reach those dreams. Sometimes we can’t do that alone. Sometimes all we need is forgiveness and someone to stand at our side. Louis’ always been better at being a solo act, but he still needs a wingman every once in a while.”

 

Louis was lucky to have such a good one in Dr. Smith…or Harry guessed, Sophia. She had called him Harry, so now he could probably get away with calling her by her given name too. Maybe.

 

“Yes, M’am.”

 

“You boys and all your formalities,” she teased, giving him another of her silly salutes paired with a roll of her eyes. She looked down at her watch and slid effortlessly off the edge of her desk. “We should probably get going. You’ve got Aerodynamics next, and you know how Commander Tomlinson gets with tardiness.”

 

Harry stood too, but before he left he had to say it. He had to get it out. It was the closure he needed, and it had to be said. “Dr. Smith…um…Sophia?”

 

“Yes, Harry?”

 

“I know it’s a little out of line to say, but since we’re being familiar, you and Commander Tomlinson make a lovely couple.”

 

He thought it was a very nice sentiment. Simple. Respectful. True.

 

Apparently Sophia was not in agreement with any of that. In a very undignified display completely uncharacteristic of what he had previously seen of her, Sophia was laughing as if she had never heard anything funnier. She was laughing so loud and long that Harry was seriously concerned she may have oxygen deficits when she finished. She brushed the tears from her eyes and shook her head, still trying to subdue the lingering chuckles as she fought to speak.

 

“Oh, no. _God no_. Louis and I aren’t…we’re _definitely_ not a couple. I’m very sorry if you got that impression by what I’ve just said, but that’s not the case. We’re just very good friends. Nothing more, nothing less. He’s not my type anyway, since we’re apparently being so brutally honest. I couldn’t bear to date one of you fly boys…a bunch of renegades with a death wish if you ask me…no offense. In fact if a pilot ever even _tried_ to pursue me, Louis would probably make sure their bodies were never found after he dealt with them. He’s very protective that way. I think it comes from having so many little sisters. Big brother complex.”

 

That was new information. New, very personal, very interesting information.

 

Sophia wasn’t done yet. “But even more importantly, I’m about as far from his type as a person could be. Trust me on that, Harry.”

 

“What is his type?” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. He immediately wanted to slap the shit out of himself. Way to be subtle, Sparrow.

 

Sophia looked at Harry for a long moment. “Probably the same as yours,” she remarked casually.

 

Clearly she didn’t know. Clearly she had no idea that Harry’s type was _Louis_ in one simple word.

 

“Um. I don’t think so,” Harry told her after having to clear his throat multiple times.

 

“No? Why, have you already got someone back home pining after you, fly boy? A military spouse?” she asked with a raised eyebrow very similar to the way Louis was always raising his.

 

Harry was quick to shake his head. “No. Not really a…relationship kind of guy, to be honest. At least…at least not yet.”

 

“By choice? Or by force?” she asked skeptically.

 

Harry looked around the office for a way to escape. Could this be any more mortifying? “Um. Both? Both. Or maybe…maybe force. I…I guess.”

 

“Hm. Then it seems you have more in common with Louis than you thought.”

 

Sophia watched him as he turned beet red and fidgeted with his dog tags. “This is all classified, right?” Harry finally asked.

 

Finally she granted him reprieve with a kind smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Top secret. My lips are sealed. Don’t worry. And who knows? Maybe I’m wrong…but maybe I’m not. Just food for thought. Forgive me again for being blunt, but you did start with the honesty by telling me that my best friend and I make a smashing pair,” she teased. “Unfortunately, as much as I’m enjoying our enlightening and highly entertaining chat, we’d really better get going now. I’ll see you in class. Don’t be late.”

 

Food for thought indeed. Harry would be chewing up this information until it was soggy and tasteless and barely even distinguishable as edible anymore. Now everything was ripped wide open again. Closure be damned. And the worst part was that now Harry _definitely_ didn’t have time for a wank before class. Such was the tragedy of week three at Premier Delta.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Georgia Rose shook with the effort Harry was calling her to expend as he raced across the Scottish coastline, weaving in and out of the sea stacks that rose from the water. He was pushing it, pushing her, but he could not let up now. Not when he had Rogue in his sights, just out of range for missiles.

 

“Hold steady, girl. Just a little faster,” he pleaded, throttle already bordering on dangerous levels.

 

“You’ve got him, Sparrow,” Niall called to him, “Stay with it, and you’ve got him!”

 

Harry narrowed his eyes and chewed on his lip under his mask, so hard it would probably be bloody by the time the hop was over. He needed this. He _needed_ this win.

 

They had been battling out here for a good half hour now, chasing one another, constantly changing position of who had the advantage. It was the best flight of Harry’s time here…hell, probably the best flight of Harry’s life.

 

“Come on, come on. Push it. There ya go,” came the smooth voice through Harry’s radio. That was one of the things that was different about flying against Rogue. He liked to talk. He liked to taunt. None of the other instructors usually transmitted to the recruits. But Rogue was always chattering.

 

“Is that the best you’ve got? Come now, I thought you said you could hold your own as a pilot. What was all that talk about gorilla balls? Hit me with your best, or I’ll start to think you’re all talk and no game,” Rogue taunted.

 

Harry growled into his mask and inched the throttle farther down, grip firm on the yoke as he just narrowly avoided painting his plane across yet another rock formation, briefly losing sight of Rogue in his effort.

 

Suddenly when Harry cleared around the other side of the sea stack, Rogue was gone as if he had completely disappeared into thin air.

 

“What…” Harry had time to utter before he was on missile lock.

 

“Bingo,” Rogue called happily. “Lost sight of your target, didn’t you? _Ah ah ah_. Always keep your eyes on the prize.”

 

“Shit,” Harry cursed, slowing his speed and lifting Georgia Rose up to safer air away from the stacks. Harry was sweating like a pig under his flight suit and would love nothing more than to eject himself right into the cool, refreshing waters of the sea to bring his body temperature back down. A cold shower would have to suffice when he got back to base.

 

“Thanks for the great warm up, Pigeon. Now I can go take down some real opponents.”

 

“Glad to be of service,” Harry replied sullenly, jet now pointed back toward base. He didn’t even care to see if Rogue was following him in. Harry shut off the radio so he didn’t have to hear Rogue’s bright laughter anymore.

 

“Great _gorilla_ balls of fire,” Niall sighed. “Ah well. Least we lasted that long, eh? I think that may be the record against Rogue. Don’t know if anyone else has broken fifteen minutes yet with him. There’s something to be said for that, right?”

 

“But we still walk away without any points,” Harry told Niall.

 

“Maybe, but I think we’ll get something else instead.”

 

“Oh yeah? And what is that? Another of your fictitious awards? _Rogue’s Most Lively Prey…Until They Weren’t_?”

 

“Nope. That wouldn’t fit on a plaque anyway, numb nuts.” If only Harry’s nuts were numb.

 

“So what do we get then?”

 

“Respect,” Niall said simply.

 

Turns out, that’s just what they got when they made it to the locker room and entered to hand shakes and commendation all around. Even from Liam, who was still two bloody points ahead.

 

“It’s not a plaque, but I think it’ll do,” Niall said with a beaming smile for Harry when Ginger wrapped his arms around the fellow RIO and promised him pints this weekend.

 

 _Next time_ , Harry vowed. Next time he faced his infamous instructor up there he’d get a lot more than respect. Next time, Harry was going to get Rogue.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

As classes let out at noon on Saturday, there was a buzz of excitement that permeated through the entire class of 1D recruits, because today they had the afternoon off. They had a practically unheard of afternoon of freedom on a beautiful, warm Saturday, because the Captain, Hollywood and Banshee had been called away on some urgent, top-secret matters. Excited with all the possibilities that the day promised, the recruits were instantly throwing around ideas about how they should spend the day…together, of course, because something as momentous as this must be celebrated with fellow Navy brethren.

 

It had eventually been decided - after a heavy push from Niall - that all the recruits would take part in a football match on Fort Acaiseid’s tragically under-used pitch. It wasn’t much to look at with its rusty posts and shredded nets, but it had grass and a few faintly painted lines marking the boundaries, so to the lads, it was as good as Wembley. They had decided to meet up at the pitch after lunch, and with all the anticipation of a schoolyard pick-up footie match, they rushed back to their lodgings to stuff food in their faces and change out of their work uniforms as quickly as possible.

 

It was rather upsetting, then, that when Harry went to change into a pair of shorts for the match, he found the drawer he usually kept them in glaringly empty…except for a single pair left neatly folded at the bottom. There was only one explanation for this crisis.

 

“Niall,” Harry huffed, storming starkers out into the kitchen holding the shorts…a tomato red pair with the union jack flag on the bum that were so short and tight they were practically knickers. They had been a Christmas gag gift from Niall last year after Harry had given Niall a similar green pair with the Irish flag on them the year before. Harry had never had any cause or desire to wear them, today included. “ _Where_ are the rest of my shorts?”

 

Niall was still sitting at their table, finishing up the mountain of food he had insisted he needed in order to sustain all the athletic efforts he was about to perform. With half a sandwich still in hand, he looked all around himself as if Harry’s missing shorts would suddenly reappear out of thin air. “Dunno, mate. Did you forget to do your washing?”

 

Harry glared at him. That face was far too innocent. Harry knew better than to trust it. “Don’t play dumb with me, Horan. I know all your tricks. If I’m missing something, I damn well know you have something to do with its convenient disappearance. I don’t need a CSI team to tell me that.”

 

Niall frowned, putting his empty hand against his chest in offense. “I resent those accusations.”

 

“And I resent your larceny. Now where did you stash them? I need a pair to wear for the game.”

 

“What’s wrong with them ones you’ve got there? They’re fully functional shorts, are they not?” Niall asked, eyeing the hideous micro-shorts Harry was waving at him in outrage.

 

“Functional? Yes. I’m not so sure how _full_ , though. They barely even cover my arse.”

 

Niall smirked. “And that’s a bad thing?”

 

“It is when you are playing footie with a bunch of your _straight_ mates and coworkers who aren’t interested in seeing your bits poking out the bottom of your shorts.”

 

“Well…not _all_ of our mates are straight.”

 

“Zayn and Liam do not count. I’m not a home wrecker, Niall.”

 

“I wasn’t referring to them.”

 

“Then _who_ , pray tell, _are_ you referring to? Statistically speaking there can’t be that many more gay lads here.”

 

Niall shrugged and bit off a huge chunk of his sandwich, continuing to talk with his mouth full, “You don’t know that. Best to show off your best assets just in case. And even if there aren’t any more prospects, _I_ still enjoy checking out them legs of yours. You wouldn’t deny ol’ Nialler a good view now, would ya?”

 

Harry fumed silently as he alternated glares between the offending red short-shorts and his equally offending RIO.

 

“Good,” Niall declared when it became clear that Harry had nothing further to argue considering they both knew Niall would get his way. He swallowed the rest of the food in his mouth and smiled wickedly at Harry. “Since that’s settled, get those on ya and let’s go. We don’t want to miss kick off. Plus, I was promised a team captain slot. We gotta be early so I can pick my winning team. If you don’t stop whining about your bloody kit, you can be sure you won’t be on it.”

 

With a pout permanently etched on his lips, Harry slid on the shorts, threw on a white tank top, and then followed a similarly dressed Niall - who’s stupid shorts were a great deal longer than Harry’s…bastard - out the door and off to the pitch for the day’s festivities.

 

When they got there, the rest of the recruits were already milling about. Liam, as expected, seemed to be the only one putting himself through a proper warm-up, already sweating and huffing with Zayn watching in fond amusement. Ginger, Spider and Reaper were replenishing their fluids with cans of beer while Quatro, Romeo and Wrecker were lazily kicking the ball around.

 

When Niall marched up and saw the scene in front of him, he pulled a whistle from under his tank and blew it shrilly to call everyone’s attention. Everyone put their hands over their ears.

 

“Christ, Craic. A shout would have sufficed. We’re not _dogs_ ,” Reaper huffed, turning back to where he had been talking with Ginger.

 

Niall just surveyed the line-up of lads with a scowl. Harry knew very well what was about to transpire, but the rest of them apparently didn’t, because they went right back to mingling and chatting. Niall just blew his whistle louder this time - a shrill blast of annoyance that lasted a full ten seconds.

 

“Hey!” Niall hollered stubbornly. “A bunch of lazy, cock-slapping, half-wits you all are! This is to be taken _seriously_. We will not make a mockery of Europe’s pride and joy on this most momentous of days by giving it less than our best effort. Since Chev is the only one who seems to have his head removed from his arse, he’s the other team captain. The rest of you scrubs…line up! And hope to God I forgive this transgression!”

 

Niall Horan may laugh his way through life, but that attitude did not extend to football. As he had expressed to Harry many times over the past years they’d known each other…Niall’s _life_ was food, football and flying. In that order. God help anyone who came in between Niall and his life’s passions.

 

Everyone was quick to comply when they got a look at Niall’s stubborn posture, hands on his hips, whistle still dangling from his mouth, and eyebrows drawn in a fierce line.

 

“So five on five, then?” Liam asked once everyone was in place, coming up to stand next to Niall. He looked just as serious, eyeing their prospective teammates and deciding who was worthy.

 

“Yep. But we need to pick a referee first,” Niall told him.

 

Liam frowned at that. “But that would make the teams uneven.”

 

“No it wouldn’t. We’re still waiting on one more. Ah! And here he is now. Welcome, mate! We were just going to pick teams.”

 

Harry suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. All his suspicions were confirmed when he turned around slowly just to set eyes on Louis jogging across the field in gray cut off sweats, a black tank and football spikes. His normally kempt chestnut hair was a wind-blown mess as he ran toward the group, and those damn shorts were doing nothing to hide his toned arse and legs. Harry was already familiar with Louis’ decadent lower half after so much time ogling it in class as he paced the front of the room, but there was a new factor to be considered now, something he hadn’t noticed before given the stuffy work uniforms that he saw Louis in most of the time. And that was his impressive collection of tattoos. Harry was a sucker for a man with ink. He should have known that the object of his recent lust would be the proud owner of just as many tattoos as Harry had himself. Life was just not fair when it came to Louis Tomlinson.

 

Harry hadn't even gotten the chance to note all of them before he realized that he was not the only one staring, apparently. Louis had suddenly stopped short of the lads, legs seeming to cut all function for a moment. Even more strange, he seemed to be looking at _Harry_ , of all people. Before Harry could really confirm or deny that observation, Louis shook his head and strode the last few feet across the pitch with all his usual confidence until he was standing right beside Harry.

 

“Sorry I’m late, captains. By all means, continue on. Don’t hold my tardiness against me. Wouldn’t want to disrespect the beautiful game,” Louis chirped, saluting first Niall and then Liam with a cheeky smirk.

 

Niall gave him an appeased nod. “Good lad.”

 

Now that all participants had arrived, Niall went into a lengthy discussion about the rules and regulations for today’s match that Harry completely tuned out. It wouldn’t help his skills anyway, knowing the rules or not. He was still abysmally uncoordinated. He would count the day as a win if he could manage to stay upright for most of the match and keep his shorts from exposing anything rated more than PG-13. Oh, and keep his eyes off of Louis and that sinfully curved arse of his. Yes. That was a must too.

 

“Afternoon, Pigeon,” Louis said lowly, breaking Harry’s concentration for a moment, leaning in to him ever so slightly to afford them some privacy. Harry might not be looking directly at Louis, but he couldn’t miss the lascivious smirk that crossed Louis’ face. “Didn’t realize you were so…patriotic.”

 

Harry blushed about as scarlet as the mentioned apparel.

 

“I love my country. My job is to protect it, isn’t it? Doesn’t mean I can’t show my patriotism in other ways too,” Harry said haughtily, instantly standing up a bit straighter despite his ridiculous appearance.

 

“And what an ample display of patriotism it is.”

 

Harry needed to change the subject. They could not start talking about arses…his ample one or otherwise. He could not afford a boner in these shorts. _PG-13, PG-13, must keep it PG-13!_

 

“Why are you here?” he asked Louis to deflect. “I thought you were trying to keep your professional distance.”

 

Louis smirked again. Did he have any other facial expression? “I’m powerless to refuse a little game of pick-up footie. Besides, as your RIO so eloquently pointed out numerous times in his gracious invitation this morning, football is our country’s most revered pastime. Why are you trying to deny _my_ attempts at patriotism, Harold? We don’t all have the legs for _your_ preferred methods.”

 

Blatant lies. Harry could witness the proof just underneath the frayed edge of Louis’ shorts. “What is it with you and the insults about my legs?” Harry muttered to himself, but of course Louis heard.

 

Louis held both of his hands up. “No insults here. They’re a fine pair to _look at_ , but I’m more concerned about what they can _do_. You know…speed, power, endurance, flexibility…I guess I’m going to get a live demonstration today, hm? Maybe then I’ll have more to say about those legs of yours.”

 

Harry’s face got impossibly more red. Louis just chuckled and then itched ambivalently at his arm, right over a giant bird tattooed on his skin. That had Harry’s head turning as he stared at the artwork. His eyes met Louis’, who simply raised a brow back at him in question.

 

“Sparrow!” Niall’s voice cut through the haze. Harry snapped his gaze forward again. Niall grinned at him and wiggled a finger in a come-hither fashion. “Let’s go, lover boy. You’re mine.”

 

And this was something else that was new. Harry knew that Niall loved him beyond what could be considered reasonable, but when it came to football, Niall _never_ picked Harry for his team. Not after that horrific game a few years back when Harry had accidentally scored a goal in their own net meaning that Niall had to abstain from alcohol for an entire month as the terms of the lost bet. It was the most miserable time period of Niall’s entire life…probably Harry’s too, if he was honest, having to put up with a very sulky and very sober Niall every time they joined their mates out at the pub.

 

Harry trotted hesitantly over to Niall’s side, even more baffled to find he had been chosen _first_. Niall was quick to sling an arm over his shoulder and yank Harry into his side with a beaming grin. Harry took the closeness as an opportunity to interrogate Niall.

 

“Why are you doing this to me? Why are you trying to ruin my life?” Harry whined.

 

“Come on, mate, you’re not _that_ bad with a football.”

 

“First of all, yes I am. And second, that is _not_ what I’m talking about.”

 

Niall raised his eyebrows. “Is this still about the shorts? What, do you have a wedgie or somethin’?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and leaned in closer, really trying not to adjust his shorts. Damn things were riding up, but Niall didn’t need to know that.

 

“It’s about _him_ …coming to the match…which I know you orchestrated,” Harry hissed. He shot a look back at Louis and found that Louis was also still looking at him. No smirk this time, just a contemplative expression as if he were trying to figure out some difficult puzzle. When Louis’ lips pursed in his efforts, Harry had to look away.

 

“Heard he was pretty handy with a football. Why’s it so bad he’s here? He’s not interested in you anyway, right? You said he’s straight. So what’s the problem? Didn’t you say you wanted to get over it…over _him_? I’m providing you the perfect opportunity. Exposure therapy, mate. Works every time,” Niall whispered breezily. Harry still hadn’t informed Niall about his private conversation with Dr. Smith earlier this week. He still wasn’t sure what it all meant and what he was to do with all that information.

 

“You barely passed that psychology course in basic training. I don’t need your half-arsed attempts at counseling. I just need you to be my friend. And as my friend, I need you to stop meddling.”

 

“I’m not meddlin’! Just happened to pass his office this mornin’ on my way to grab my usual post-breakfast-pre-lunch snack and saw that he was juggling around a football to pass the time. One thing led to another and pretty soon we were chattin’ about Derby’s chances to win the division. He may be a Rovers fan, but the lad knows his football. I figured he’d enjoy a good ol’ kick around, so I invited him. That’s it. You didn’t even cross me mind once, mate. Sorry to break it to ya. This has nothing to do with ya, so stop pretending the world revolves around your arse, as peachy as it may be.”

 

Niall gave Harry’s bum a pinch for effect.

 

“I just don’t think it’s appropriate for him to be here,” Harry tried, his only real defense.

 

“Oh, and you wanking to the thought of him _is_ appropriate? Don’t think I don’t know where you run off to every chance you get. You’ve taken more showers the past few weeks than you did the entirety of basic training.”

 

Harry tried to mask his embarrassment with a sputtering cough. “My wank material is none of your concern…and I do _not_ wank thinking about our _instructor_ , for the record.” Harry prayed the air was not prone to any sudden bouts of electricity to strike him down for that big, fat lie. “I’m just trying to say that after Saturday, I’m sure he wants to keep his distance from all of us. You know…as a _professional_.”

 

Niall just shrugged. “He’s not wearing his uniform. I don’t see any patches, insignia or medals of honor on him right now, do you? He’s just another bloke like you and me today. I certainly didn’t kidnap him and force his attendance, so he’s here of his own free will. He seems pretty pleased about it too. Just relax, mate. It’s all under control. You just worry about your footie skills and keeping your libido under control. And for Christ’s sake, do _not_ kick one in our own net this time, yeah? I’m trusting you again. _Don’t_ disappoint me.”

 

Niall turned to Liam, who was still having an internal struggle over the first selection for his team. “Oi! Just pick Pak-Man already,” Niall hollered at him. “Can’t stand to see them puppy dog eyes of his if ya don’t. They’re lethal.”

 

Liam selected Zayn after another full minute of silent deliberation - shocking exactly no one - and then much to Harry’s surprise, Niall chose Ginger. Harry had been sure Niall would choose Louis if he was as good at football as Niall claimed, but apparently Niall had some type of strategy here, and Harry was surely not one to question it. Louis was snapped up by Liam next, and the picking went on from there until all the recruits had been separated.

 

When everyone took the field for the match to start, Niall and Harry’s team consisted of Ginger, Spider and Wrecker, while Liam’s team consisted of Zayn, Louis, Quatro, and Romeo. Reaper had volunteered to be the referee because he would “rather shove a football up his own arse than ruin his quiff.” Louis offered to get him some lube for that endeavor to everyone’s amusement but Reaper’s. After that, Harry had a hard time focusing on what he was supposed to be doing on the field with the thought of lube, arses and Louis all in the same swirling mess of his brain.

 

As it turned out, the match was quite one sided, but Harry could have predicted that as soon as the teams had been selected. Niall’s team wasdown three goals after the first ten minutes of the game had lapsed. It didn’t take a professional football analyst to see that the skill was heavily tilted in the opposing team’s favor.

 

See, Niall was perfectly adequate at the game, but he was probably the only one on their team with any skill at all. The rest were woeful travesties at best. Ginger couldn’t seem to stop himself from whiffing the ball any time it was passed to him, Spider’s foot was so inaccurate he might as well be playing for the other team, Wrecker was living up to his call sign in every sense of the word, and Harry was, as expected, barely able to stay on his own two feet even when he _didn’t_ have the ball.

 

The other team was a different story. Liam approached the entire thing like it was the gold medal match in the bloody Olympics. Romeo and Quatro were the dynamic duo of defenseman, not a single ball able to penetrate their steely fortress of handsomeness. Zayn was probably the only weak link on the team, more often than not running _away_ from the ball or pleading with Liam not to pass it his way, but he was still better than anything on Niall’s team of rejects.

 

Then there was Louis.

 

He played footie the same way he flew. Fast, fearless and ferocious. But there was something new here on the ground too. There was something unquestionable feline in the way he moved through his domain, calculating, agile and powerful…like a cheetah, or a puma, or…or a cougar. Yes. That’s what he was. Hungry eyes, feral smile, and a lithe, lean body to do all the work. He didn’t circle and wait for his moment as he was so prone to do up in the sky. Here, he was all about the attack and the pounce. His flight feet seemed to race over the field in a stunning display of athletic prowess that had Harry in absolute awe. He stole the ball like a felon, booted it like a cannon, and passed it to his teammates with all the precision of a heat-seeking missile. When it came time for Louis to do a throw-in when the ball went out of play, he performed a perfectly timed flip throw that Liam easily banked right into the goal. Harry was too dazed to even think about trying to block it. Louis’ mere presence on the football pitch was about 80% of the reason why Harry could barely take two steps without face planting…the other 20% (probably skewed in the opposite direction, actually) was the fact that Louis was doing all these awe inspiring things shirtless and glistening in sweat. Damn Niall and his Irish skin for insisting that their team couldn’t possibly be the skins in their decision to play shirts-n-skins. “ _Skin cancer!_ ” Niall had protested vehemently, clinging to his shirt. Harry was going to bruise every inch of Niall’s pasty, white skin and see what Niall thought about his “delicate, fair coloring” then.

 

When Louis upended an entire water bottle over his chest and face in a show rivaling _Flashdance_ at the end of the second quarter, Harry was positively whimpering in agony. They still had an entire half left of this torture, and Harry didn’t think his poor heart…or bum…could take any more abuse. His arse was already going to be black and blue from landing on it so many times after Louis stole the ball away from him and left him a tangled, heaping, sexually frustrated mess in the dirt.

 

Reaper’s whistle sounded shrilly for the half, and the boys all jogged over to their respective sidelines to regroup…or in the case of Niall’s team, resuscitate.

 

Before Harry could stumble over to a very livid looking Coach Niall for their half time tongue lashing, Louis jogged up to him. Louis barely seemed to have expended any energy at all despite his showcase in the first half. Harry, on the other hand, was panting like a dog left in the heat for too long.

 

“Let it be said that I was right about you the first time I saw you and those legs,” Louis teased, voice as steady as it always was. He nudged Harry’s ribs, only causing him to gasp even more. “You really are a newborn fawn out here, aren’t you? A pigeon in the sky and a baby deer on the ground. How have you managed to survive your life this long, Bambi?”

 

“By staying away from vultures and cougars like you,” Harry wheezed, stopping to put his hands on his knees so he could catch his breath. His lungs seemed to be failing him now too, right along with his heart and backside. Harry’s eyes were watering with how hard his body was working to keep him from passing out.

 

“First you accuse me of being a hideous, balding bird and now an overgrown pussy?” Louis chuckled. Harry could only see the toes of Louis’ football spikes from his view looking down at the grass, but he imagined Louis was raising one of those curvy brows. “Don’t know how I feel about being compared to a beyond-her-prime woman prowling for a younger play-thing. I’m not that desperate, Bambi.”

 

“Trust me. Prey knows a predator when we see one,” Harry mumbled, still hunched over and struggling to take in air.

 

There was a pause then, and their previously lighthearted banter seemed to be suddenly crushing in its weight. Louis didn’t have a snarky reply or a quick rebuttal this time. He didn’t say anything. For a moment there was nothing but startling silence, making it even harder to breathe in this vacuous moment.

 

To Harry’s surprise, he felt a hand gently settle over his heaving back. It moved slowly up the column of his spine until it landed on his dog-tags, which had turned themselves around in the chaos of the match. Harry stopped breathing altogether as nimble fingers traced the edge of the cool, metal tags. Then the hand was gone as if it had all been some type of oxygen deprived hallucination.

 

“First of all…you’re no prey,” Louis said simply with a voice that was almost stern.

 

Harry stood quickly, sucking in a massive gulp of air to clear his head. Louis was staring him down again, but gone was the heated expression from the field. His eyes were different now, more clear than Harry had ever seen them before. And so, _so_ blue. Louis’ eyes really were as blue as the Scottish sky that Harry flew under everyday. They were also decidedly not the eyes of a cougar…or a vulture.

 

“And maybe you’re wrong about me too,” Louis suggested, tone a little less sharp.

 

Louis’ eyes flicked down at his own right arm, gazing over the many tattoos on his skin. His eyes seemed to linger again on the bird that Harry had noticed before, as well as passing over a stag on his deltoid who’s horns cradled a faded, broken heart.

 

“If you’re not the predator, than what are you?” Harry asked.

 

Louis smiled, only half his mouth turning upwards and eyes still looking down. He took a step back. Harry hadn’t realized how close they’d been. Harry took a step back too.

 

“Haven’t quite figured that out yet. I’ll let you know,” Louis replied. His eyes caught Harry’s one more time, and then he strode off to Liam and his awaiting teammates.

 

Harry stood in the middle of the field and continued to stare after him for another moment before Niall called him over with an aggravated shout.

 

“Oi, what were you doing over there fraternizing with the enemy? What were you two chattin' about?” Niall asked with his eyebrows raised to his blonde hairline.

 

“Um. Discussing wildlife?” Harry panted. It wasn’t necessarily a _lie_.

 

Niall frowned and angrily muttered something under his breath. The only thing Harry was able to catch were the words, “ _Horse_ ,” and “ _Water_.” Then Niall turned to the rest of the team. “Take a lap, ya nit heads. Make up for that unspeakable first half showing.”

 

Harry groaned. He didn’t think his lungs could handle another step, but he went to follow after Ginger anyway. Niall grabbed the waistband of his shorts and yanked him back before he could get very far.

 

“ _You_ are staying here. Can’t have you keeling over on me. Jesus, you already look like you’re one bad breath away from a full blown asthma attack. Thank Christ I brought your inhaler.” Niall dug around the front of his shorts and produced Harry’s beloved puffer. Harry was so desperate for it that he didn’t even care it had been sharing space with Niall’s bollocks before bringing it to his mouth. He sighed in relief the second he felt its effects loosening up chest.

 

“Thanks, mate,” Harry sighed happily.

 

Niall looked over at the other team and shook his head. “So this game’s a loss.”

 

“You did pick your team,” Harry pointed out, pointing to himself.

 

“ _That_ part is working out just fine. I’m still ahead in the war.”

 

Harry looked at him in confusion. He really did talk shit most of the time. “We’re down by five goals. How can you still think you’re ahead?”

 

Niall rolled his eyes as if _Harry_ was the stupid one. “Maybe that’s not the score that I’m counting.”

 

Now Harry was really lost. Niall’s eyes looked back over at the other team across the field, then he zeroed in on Harry with a very frightening intensity in his eyes.

 

“Hey, Harry?”

 

“Hey, Niall?”

 

“Do you trust me?” Niall asked, reaching out to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

 

“Um. Sure?”

 

“Good. Don’t get freaked, okay? And just trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

 

Before Harry could ask if his RIO had totally lost the plot, Niall wrapped a hand in Harry’s wild curls and yanked him down to his height. Then he planted a loud, wet, smacking kiss right on Harry’s lips.

 

Harry was too stunned to even move. He still must be suffering oxygen deficits. That was the only explanation for why his best mate…his very _straight_ best mate…was suddenly trying to snog him halfway to Sunday in the middle of a football pitch in front of all their mates.

 

Niall pulled back a few second later with a smile on his face as wide as the Cheshire cat. He wiped his lips off with the back of his hand and winked at Harry.  
 

“What…what the _hell_ was that?” Harry spluttered. He could still feeling Niall’s saliva on his own lips. _Gross_.

 

“That was the spark, mate…the spark that’s going to win me this war. Thank me later.” Niall smacked Harry’s sore bum and galloped off toward where his tired teammates were jogging around the corner of the pitch.

 

“Pick up your feet, ya lazy bunch of tossers! Knees-to-chest. Knees-to-fuckin’-chest!” Niall roared, chasing after them until they all stumbled back to their bench. When they got there, Niall launched into an inspired half time speech to rally his troops.

 

Harry wasn’t sure whether it was Niall’s impassioned sermon or just the terror of what he would do to them if they lost, but the second half was a much better showing for their team. Unfortunately, that intensity seemed to be equally met by Liam’s team…or more aptly, a certain _member_ of Liam’s team.

 

If Harry thought that Louis’ performance in the first half was fiery, this half he was an all out blaze. He was no longer playing with that intelligent precision shown previously. Now he was all wild instinct. He was reckless and ruthless, caring little for any of the pre-ordained rules or the general safety of anyone else on the pitch. If Reaper wasn’t too busy pounding back beers on the sidelines to actually perform his referee duties, Louis would surely have been red-carded by now. As the only one on the opposing team who served as any kind of competition, poor Niall seemed to be getting the brunt of all Louis’ sudden hostility. Louis had tripped him, kicked him, shoved him, and at one point actually broken his skin by biting him.

 

When Niall started hollering at him about needing to get his rabies under control, Louis actually _growled_ and _stripped his teeth_. Harry was so turned on he was having a hard time staying conscious. All his blood was currently pooled in his crotch, definitely no where near his brain.

 

“Mentally unstable, that one is,” Niall huffed as he jogged over to Harry’s side while Louis streaked around the field with the ball. He cradled his injured arm to his chest and glared at Louis’ back. “But at least I was right.”

 

Harry didn’t even hear what Niall said. He was too busy counting the teeth marks branded in Niall’s skin. It made Harry shudder.

 

A loud howl broke the air a second later, drawing their attention, followed by an even louder, “ _Aw fuck_.”

 

When Harry finally zeroed in on the source of the commotion, he found Zayn laying on the ground clutching the side of his face…the side opposite to where he still had a faint ring of yellowy-green around his dark eye.

 

The recruits all surrounded him quickly, and he was flanked on either side by a crouching Louis and Liam. Liam’s hands were flapping around as he urgently checked to make sure that Zayn was still alive and in once piece. Louis was just watching the entire exchange guiltily.

 

Harry and Niall jogged over just in time to hear Zayn hiss when Liam prodded the side of his face. “Knock it off!”

 

“Shit. We need to get you to the medic,” Liam said with wide eyes. “Does your head hurt? Are you hearing any ringing in your ears? Are you dizzy? Confused? Nauseous? Quick, tell me your full name and the date…and um…and my name? Do you know who I am? _Oh my God!_ You don’t know who I am, do you?” Liam questioned in a high, panicky voice very uncharacteristic of him. It was all spoken so lightning fast that Harry was surprised that Zayn was even able to comprehend it in his injured state, because Harry was barely able to make sense of it himself.

 

“Head is just a little sore. No ringing or dizziness or confusion or nausea. Although I might puke on you if you don’t stop nagging at me. I’m fine. My name is Lieutenant Zayn Malik and it is a beautiful Saturday afternoon in Scotland.” He paused for a moment, “And you are Niall Horan. Love of my life.”

 

Liam gasped in horror for a moment before he realized that Zayn was clearly taking the piss. Then he pouted as Niall cackled next to Harry.

 

“Oi! Knew ya loved me best!” Niall answered. “But hate to break it to ya, my heart is already spoken for.” Niall slung an arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry was quick to shove him off and stoop down to Zayn.

 

“Y’alright, mate?” Harry asked. Harry was squatting next to Louis, who still looked ashen and small in his crouched position.

 

Zayn shrugged. “Like I told _Liam_ ,” he looked pointedly at the lad still trying to surreptitiously check him for further injury, “I’m fine. Just got in the way of one of Tomlinson’s bombs. Brained me good, but I’ll live.” Zayn reached out and patted Louis’ arm in understanding.

 

“Sorry, mate. Got a bit carried away, I guess,” Louis said softly. “But I’m still in agreement with your pilot. Probably best to get you checked out by a professional, although Chevron does seem to possess an impressive wealth of knowledge about post-concussion symptoms.”

 

“I can take him to the urgent care center here on base,” Harry offered. “God knows I’m not doing any good out here anyway, and it will keep the teams even so you can finish up the game.”

 

Liam looked like he wanted to protest, but Zayn agreed before he could speak up.

 

“Let’s go then,” Zayn said, moving to stand. Liam quickly jumped to action to help him, but Zayn smacked his hands away. “I’ve got it.” Liam looked lost and helpless for a moment, but Zayn leaned in for a lightening quick kiss to his cheek. “Go get ‘em, Li. Win this one for me, and I’ll be back in time to take the victory lap with ya, yeah?”

 

Liam stood up a little straighter and nodded resolutely at Zayn. He was back to all business now. Back to the steely, determined pilot Harry knew him to be. He gave Zayn a salute, “Consider it done.”

 

Zayn just chuckled and nodded to Harry that he was ready. Harry turned toward the main building but was halted momentarily by his own cheek kiss.

 

“ _I’ll_ be the one winning this one for ya, fair princess. And I’ll expect a token when I do,” Niall said loudly, smacking Harry’s bum…again. Harry huffed and shoved a hand in Niall’s face, pushing him down until his arse hit the ground.

 

“There’s a token for you, love. Now you’ve got a sore bum to match mine. Go kick the rest of these arse out here, and we’ll see about your prize for winning later. I’ve got some ideas.” Like throwing out all the food in their fridge, or hiding every bottle in Niall’s reserve supply of booze, or stealing his working uniform and forcing him to wear the damn Irish pride shorts to class every day next week. There were so many options.

 

Niall winked at him from his place in the dirt. He clutched his heart and fell back dramatically in a star-fish position. “God. I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

 

Harry grabbed Zayn’s arm and led him off toward the main building without looking back at his insufferable RIO. When Harry was a few steps away, he heard the sound of a ball being kicked, followed by Niall barking out, “Ow! What the hell was that for?” Harry didn’t bother turning around to see what had happened. Whatever it was, Niall most likely had it coming.

 

“Sorry, mate. Foot slipped,” a high pitched voice said innocently, heavily colored by a thick Yorkshire accent. Then Harry was too far away to hear anything else.

 

Zayn walked at Harry’s side silently as they made their way to the urgent care center in the main building on base. It wasn’t a long walk, and when they got there, the doctor on staff informed them they only had to wait a few minutes while she finished up with a fresh faced ensign who had sustained some kind of laceration to his thigh.

 

Even though Zayn said Harry didn’t have to wait with him, Harry still pulled up a chair to the gurney that Zayn was sitting on as they waited for the doctor in their cramped, stuffy examination room. He wasn’t eager to get back to the game for fear of more damage to his lungs, and Zayn was far better company than Niall at the moment, who couldn't seem to keep his hands…or lips…to himself. He would much rather spend the time in Zayn’s quiet, peaceful presence, even if the smell of antiseptic that permeated the air of the urgent care was a little overwhelming.

 

A soft knock sounded against the door. “Lt. Malik?” a nurse asked from the other side of the closed door before entering swiftly and bustling to his side.

 

“Pak-Man, please,” he told her with a small smile.

 

“Pak-Man, then. I’d like to assess your vitals and take a brief history before the doctor sees you, if that’s alright.”

 

Zayn nodded and she set to her duties, measuring heart rate, blood pressure and respiration rate. She shone a pen light in his eyes, checking for dilation of his pupils and then asked him to follow the light with his eyes. Harry watched as Zayn’s quick, all-seeing eyes followed her movements, both now probably going to be bruised. Despite the darkened appearance, Zayn was still one of the most attractive men Harry had seen. He really did have that exotic look to him, dark and swarthy with a hint of mystery that kept one guessing about who was hidden behind that cold and distant exterior. Harry figured very people really knew, probably only one, if he was honest.

 

After last Saturday’s episode at the bar, Harry was still very uncomfortable calling Zayn by his call sign, despite Zayn not showing any signs of aversion to it this entire week. Harry just couldn’t bring himself to say it, because he now realized that even though Zayn had probably gotten used to it over the years, the name was derived from something quite offensive. Most call signs were, but after seeing the unwarranted beating Zayn had taken for his ethnicity, Harry refused to further feed into the vicious cycle, Navy traditions be damned.

 

Harry waited patiently and silently as the nurse completed the screening and asked a few more questions of Zayn about how he sustained the injury. Then she left them in peace, saying, “Thank you, Pak-Man. The doctor will be with you shortly.”

 

When the were alone again, Harry cleared his throat. “Hey mate?” he asked hesitantly. “I’ve got a question for you. About your call sign?”

 

“Sure.” Zayn didn’t look bothered by it. He just turned those dark eyes on Harry and waited.

 

“Who…who gave it to you?” Harry asked, treading carefully into this topic in case it _did_ trigger Zayn in some way. The last thing Harry wanted to do was bring up what had happened at the bar, but he had to know.

 

“Liam did,” Zayn said simply, still not looking upset. Harry, on the other hand, was stunned.

 

Liam? _Liam_?! The same _Liam_ who was probably the only person more helplessly in love with Zayn than Niall? The same _Liam_ that worriedly fussed over his dark-haired companion even in front of all the other recruits and an instructor? That same _Liam_ gave Zayn such a derogatory and hurtful call sign?

 

“But Liam…you and Liam…doesn’t he…I mean aren’t you two…” Yes, Harry was a really articulate human being when under stress.

 

Zayn just gave him an gentle smile. “We’re that obvious, huh?”

 

Harry instantly shook his head. “Um. Well, no. It’s just that…” What? What could he say to express that he had only noticed because the green little envy monster inside him was entirely jealous of what Zayn and Liam shared? Having someone like that, a partner - and not just up in the sky, but here on the ground too - Harry had never had that before. But he wondered…and wanted. Badly. “It’s just that I’m…”

 

“Like us?” Zayn offered quietly, a look of total sincerity crossing his dark features, “Yes. I put that together too. You aren’t the only perceptive one around here, it seems.”

 

Harry blushed, looking down at his lap. “Well, with Niall’s ridiculous stunts of late, I’m sure _everyone’s_ probably privy to my preferences now,” Harry muttered.

 

Zayn laughed, an honest to God laugh. Harry couldn’t help but stare. He didn’t even know the lad was capable of that sound. “Harry, I know you and _Niall_ aren’t together. Please don’t insult me to assume I’m that dense. _Some_ people may not be capable of seeing past that ruse, but I certainly do.”

 

“Thank God. Wouldn’t want anyone to think I’d go for that leprechaun.”

 

Zayn laughed again. Incredible.

 

Even though Harry would love to continue finding ways to make his new friend laugh, he pulled the conversation back to his original question. “I guess I just don’t understand why Liam would give you that name. You know…given…that.” Harry just gestured vaguely to Zayn’s bruised eye.

 

Zayn smiled again and rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder companionably. “I know what you’re thinking. And it’s the exact opposite.”

 

“How so?” Harry asked curiously.

 

Zayn took a deep breath and then looked up at the ceiling at the bright halogen lights. It only highlighted the garish colors of the bruise against his tanned skin. “I’ve always operated under the assumption that it was best to just put it out there, you know? Like, let people see me for who I am. They can judge me all they want, say or do whatever they want, but no number of hateful words screamed at me or punches thrown my way can take away who I am, because I know who I am. I’m _proud_ of who I am, and the people who are important in my life love me _because_ of who I am and not in spite of it. That’s why Liam gave me the name. I haven’t ever wanted to change it even for a second.”

 

Zayn looked back down at Harry and smiled, a crooked type of smile with his tongue pushing up against the back of his teeth. Harry could tell it was his real, unguarded smile, and Harry could tell it was on his face because he was thinking about Liam.

 

Harry felt overwhelming emotion threatening to seep from his chest. It was beautiful. Such a beautiful testament to not only Zayn’s confidence in himself, but his confidence in what he had with Liam. In order to stop himself from crying in the middle of an urgent care when he wasn’t even the one suffering an injury, he quickly asked another question to keep Zayn talking.

 

“So then why Chevron? What’s his sign mean?” Harry knew asking such questions was probably stepping over the line of what was appropriate for new friends, but he had to know. He wanted to understand this pair better. After all, they were wingmen, trusting one another with their lives up there. Surely this was a necessary step.

 

Harry already knew about Liam’s Chevron tattoo, had seen it proudly displayed during the match, since he was apparently so hung up on tattoos today. He wondered what had come first, the tattoo or the call sign? A lot of guys, Harry included, had their call signs represented on their bodies in some way, but he hadn’t really put it together about Chevron and the dark unidirectional arrows on his right forearm until today. In fact, Harry had never noticed them before - hadn't been paying enough attention, apparently. He was missing a lot of things lately in his haze of flying, studying and trying not to think about Louis. He was certainly missing the point on all of Niall’s strange behavior the past week.

 

Zayn considered the question for a long moment, his eyes darkening every so slightly, before finally answering. He took a deep breath and looked back up at the ceiling, “Before I enlisted, I was in a really bad place. I’ll save you all the gruesome details, just know that it was _bad_. I was getting into trouble all the time, truant from school more often than not, hanging with a really awful crowd. Drugs, gangs, fights…just…spiraling. It was a really dark time, and by the time I got in deep enough to realize how dark it had gotten, it was too late to see a way out, so I just kept going.

 

“Liam and I had known each other for most of our lives, ever since we were toddlers, really. Way before all the bullshit started. Childhood mates. Grew up on the same block, walked to school together, play dates in our backyards during the summers, all of that. We’d always been close, but just kind of dancing around one another, you know? Close but just not quite _there_. Too young and scared to stand up for what we wanted. Then when we got to high school, we reached a fork. We started running in different crowds, me with the bangers that spent their Friday nights spray painting the walls of the library, and him with the book worms who were studying _inside_ the very same library that me and my crew defiled. But even through that, Liam and I were still friends. We still kept that link to one another for some reason, despite the fact that everyone around us told us that we were fools for it.

 

“Then one night, around the time we were both eighteen, the leader of the gang I was in decided that it was time I finally prove myself. He said, ‘ _Hey Paki. We never really initiated you proper, did we? Time for you to show us where your loyalties lie_.’ And I remember knowing exactly what they wanted me to do before they even said it…before they even put the knife in my hand. They wanted me to hurt him…hurt my best friend…hurt Liam. I guess they figured out pretty quick who had my loyalty when I told them to fuck off and threw the knife down at their feet. They didn’t like that too much, and decided to do to me what they wanted me to do to him.”

 

Zayn pointed at a few old, jagged scars over his chest that Harry had barely noticed under the impressive chest piece of beautiful artwork that was covering most of the damage. It was difficult to tell, but Harry thought the silvery streaks on Zayn’s skin beneath the ink formed the letters P-A-K-I. Branded into his skin, just as its meaning was branded into Zayn’s very being.

 

“When they were done with me, I realized I didn’t have anywhere to go. My family kicked me out when I started up in the gang, my so-called friends were either in jail, dead, or wanted _me_ dead. The only place I could think to go was Liam’s, because I knew I needed to warn him. I knew I needed to keep him safe. I knew they’d soon be coming for him because of me.

 

“Liam found me barely conscious and bleeding out on his front porch after I’d dragged myself there, literally crawling most of the way. By the time I got there, I couldn’t even lift my hand to knock on the front door. But Liam knew. Somehow he knew I was there…that I needed him.

 

“When he saw me, barely alive and soaked in blood, I remember him saying, ‘ _this is it._ ’ I don’t remember much else about that night aside from him lifting me up into his car and driving me to the hospital while I tried to babble at him about what had happened. But I remember him saying, ‘ _this is it_.’ And I remember thinking that he was right.

 

“The next day when I was released from the hospital, we ran away together. It was the only option, because the gang would never just let us be. There was no way they would let us live after I’d disrespected them by choosing an outsider over the gang family. Liam left everything. He left school, he left his parents, he left everyone and everything he had ever known. For me. Because I told him we weren’t safe, and he trusted me. A week after leaving, after hopping a train in London and taking it as far away as we could before our money ran out, he told me that we were enlisting in the Navy.

 

“Of course, I felt immense guilt once I fully realized just how much he’d given up because of me and just how much he still wanted to sacrifice, but Liam never let me blame myself. He said that being in the Navy had always been something he saw himself doing, even though I knew it was lie. I’d never even thought about that as an option, honestly, even when it was our only option. I guess deep down I hadn’t even thought that I’d survive long enough to plan for a future with the way I was living. But Liam was so sure. Once he got his mind set on it, he was so positive that the Navy was our answer. So I agreed. How could I not? I followed him to the recruiting office and signed up right after him. I left all the shit behind and started a new life. With him. A clean, healthy, happy life that I could actually be proud of. And that’s all because of him. I owe him everything. I owe him that very life he helped create. That’s why I’m his RIO. That’s why I’ve followed him all this way and fought up the ranks with him. I’ll do everything in my power to keep him safe up there, because when I needed someone to keep _me_ safe, he didn’t hesitate. He gave up everything for me, and I’d do the same for him in a heartbeat. It’s been _us_ ever since. Against the world.”

 

Zayn took a deep, shuddering breath to compose himself, then he looked to Harry for the first time since he started his story. “Liam’s always going in the right direction…and he’s always pointed us in the right direction. That’s why he’s my Chevron.”

 

It was so much information, more than Harry deserved to know. It was the most he’d ever heard Zayn say at once…probably the most he would _ever_ hear Zayn say in one sitting. He hadn’t expected Zayn to be that honest with him, especially since he could tell it was a difficult story for him to recount. But Harry would hold it sacred, because he knew it was not something that Zayn shared freely after only knowing someone such a short time. He could tell it was a story that very few people knew, probably not even Niall, and Harry was lucky to be in his confidence. He would not abuse that trust.

 

“Besides, it looks sick on the tattoo I gave him,” Zayn added after a few seconds of charged silence to lighten the mood. He offered Harry another one of his smiles, although Harry could tell it was at greater effort than normal.

 

Harry blinked up at him. “You gave him that?” Harry asked dumbly. So _not_ the important point after that story.

 

Zayn’s smile turned proud with just a hint of mirth. “You bet. Should have heard how the big, tough guy complained. Would have thought I was drilling down to the bone with how much he was whining. You’ve got a fair few yourself, from what I’ve seen. Did you complain too? Maybe it’s a pilot thing.”

 

Harry shook his head. He loved tattoos. Probably took a little _too_ much pleasure from the pain of them, if he was honest. That’s why he was always going back for more, chasing that high the same way he chased the clouds in the sky. He was always looking for that next spike of adrenaline like a junkie.

 

“Maybe someday you can give me one,” Harry casually remarked, looking down at his left wrist. He had been kicking around the idea of another one, just didn’t have a firm concept yet. He wanted to wait on it, really think it over this time. Too many of his tattoos had been pointless things that had seemed significant at the moment but had meant so little in retrospect. He promised himself - and Niall - that he would be more thoughtful next time he got one. Niall had a staunch aversion to tattoos for some unknown reason and absolutely refused to get one, claiming nothing besides love bites from the ladies would mar his perfect complexion. He only allowed Harry to get so many because Niall could never refuse his pilot when he brought out the big guns. Just like Zayn, Harry had really potent puppy dog eyes.

 

Zayn eagerly nodded. “Sure. Be happy to.”

 

“I’ll let you know.”

 

“You do that.” Zayn looked back up at the lights in the ceiling, letting them sit in silence for a few moments to signify that the previous subject of conversation was closed for further questioning.

 

Surprisingly, Zayn was the first one to break the quiet. “You know, loneliness is just as lethal as what we do everyday for a living. It just kills slower, mate. It just eats away at you, little by little, bit by bit, until you’ve got nothing left to live for anymore. It’s never good to go up there when you’ve got nothing to bring you back down.”

 

He paused, as if unsure if he should go on. Harry stayed quiet, so Zayn continued, “I know we haven’t known each other for that long - and I’ve really got no business saying this to you, so please don’t get offended - but I can already see it happening with you. Niall can too, if I’m reading all of this right. It’s that same look that I remember from my days in the gang when a boy crossed the point of no return and just gave himself up to whatever his fate was going to be. I was lucky that amidst all that shit, I always knew I had Liam. Liam always kept me from throwing everything away. I think that’s why you scare Liam when we’re on each other’s wing. He’s afraid you want to stay up there, that you’ve got nowhere else to go. Trust me on this, mate, that’s just not possible. I know you like to think yourself a bird, Sparrow, but we’re just playing pretend. We just borrow our time up there, and eventually it’s going to run out. Make sure you’re on solid ground when that happens and not trying to hold onto your wings longer than you’re allotted. Find something that makes you feel like you’re flying even when you’re not.”

 

Harry couldn’t say anything. There was nothing to say to that. It struck something deep in Harry’s chest, cutting a fresh slice into the part of his heart he had tried to stitch up too many times to count.

 

_Falling in love with the sky is foolish. You fall in love with what keeps you here. On the ground._

 

His Dad’s words echoed right alongside Zayn’s and it _stung_ …kept stinging and aching in ways that Harry thought he had been able to bury as long as he could keep the memory of his father buried too. It wasn’t just what they said, so eerily similar, but the fact that Harry could already sense that the hourglass was no longer on his side. Every time he got in his plane, he could already feel that urge pulling him to keep his head in the clouds and just let everything else go.

 

Dad had done it. Dad had lost himself to the sky. Was that Harry’s fate too?

 

“Lieutenants,” the voice of the doctor called from the doorway. “Sorry for the delay.”

 

Harry stood immediately, hands shaking so violently at his side and face so pale that the doctor did a double take and was probably wondering if _he_ was the patient instead of the one sitting on the gurney.

 

“I’ll…um…I’ll wait outside,” he told Zayn quickly before hustling out from the exam room and then out of the urgent care center entirely and away from that nauseating smell of sterile.

 

He shoved through the main doors until he was outside in the fresh air, and then he dropped down to the stairs and waited. He passed the time by counting his wavering breaths, trying to make each one more steady than the last until they were back to normal once again.

 

Half an hour and four hundred and fifty six breaths later, Zayn emerged from the building with a clean bill of heath and an ice pack for his eye. Without saying a word to one another, they marched back out to the field. Harry could still sense Zayn’s cautious and pensive eyes on him despite their silence, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to assure his friend he was alright. Mostly because he wasn’t quite sure he was. There was too much to think about. So many sources just throwing words at him. Dad, his previous instructors at XFCTR, Niall, Sophia, Liam, Zayn. All seeing the same thing. All heralding the same warning. Why was Harry the only one who couldn’t see it in himself?

 

When they finally returned to the pitch the match had just ended, and Harry was able to clear his whirling thoughts enough to focus on that. As expected, Liam’s team had been victorious.

 

Liam was quick to find Zayn, quietly asking him if he was alright before wrapping his arms around the smaller RIO’s waist and lifting him up to spin him in the air. Liam hollered in victory, and Zayn squawked in surprise at the public display. It was clear this was not normal behavior given Zayn’s blush, but Liam was still on an adrenaline high from the win.

 

Harry had his own ardent welcome waiting too. Niall ran to Harry the moment he was back in his presence, throwing himself into Harry’s arms and pretending to sob about the loss. Harry patted his back, but was too mentally drained himself to offer much support besides a weak hug. Thankfully when Niall finally detached himself from Harry, the loss seemed to be behind him. That was the good thing about Niall’s passion for football. It was powerful and consuming, but that kind of intensity could never last for long before Niall’s jovial mood took over once again.

 

“Hey, lovebird. Think I’m gonna need some TLC to get me through this time of misery and defeat. Wanna catch dinner and a show tonight in town? Just us?” Niall asked loudly, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry.

 

Niall wasn’t defeated, and he certainly didn’t look miserable, what with his sparkling eyes and bright smile. And Niall vehemently hated movie theaters for some strange reason that always seemed to change whenever Harry asked, ranging from sticky floors to being spooked by the dark. The only thing Niall liked about the cinema was the bottomless supply of popcorn. Harry knew that. Niall knew that Harry knew that. Even more certain was that Niall would never turn down the chance to go out to the bar with the lads, as they were already planning to cap off their day of freedom, for a nice quiet “date night” with Harry regardless of how much he claimed to love his pilot. Harry knew all of that. What he didn’t know was what the hell Niall was playing at with this invitation.

 

Harry didn’t have time to finally put his foot down and demand answers from Niall, because before he could manage, someone stepped up beside Harry and cleared his throat.

 

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news and add to your suffering, but Harold here actually has plans already,” Louis informed Niall, placing a light hand on Harry’s upper back over his tags again. The hand was quickly removed and swept through his sweaty fringe before he continued, “Hope you don’t mind me borrowing him for the evening. I’ve got some official pilot stuff to go over with him. You know…about flying.”

 

Harry was not aware he had any plans tonight, especially not ones with Louis. His eyes bounced back and forth between his RIO and his instructor as they stood there facing off against one another, Louis looking determined and Niall looking surprised. Niall was quiet for a moment before he broke out into a wide, innocent grin, the picture of an angelic little cherub with his wide blue eyes, ruddy cheeks, and golden shock of hair. As if.

 

“Of course, Sir. Pilot stuff _always_ comes first. Just don’t keep my boy out too late now, ya hear? I’ll be waiting up for him. With my Beretta.”

 

Louis smiled winningly at him and then gave him a salute. “Noted, Lieutenant. I’ll take good care of him. And don’t fret, I’ll have Cinderella home before he turns into a pumpkin.”

 

Harry snorted at the two of them. They were both smaller by at least a few inches and here they were talking about protecting _him_? Ridiculous. Harry straightened his spine and tried to look capable…and less pumpkin-like. Harry worked very hard on his abs to ensure his figure stayed svelte. He did not appreciate being compared to a rotund garden vegetable. He also didn’t appreciate being compared to a Disney princess, although it probably couldn’t be avoided. He did have very nice hair. It wasn’t a crime.

 

Niall stood on his tip toes and rustled a hand through Harry’s princess-like mane before he skipped off with a giant smile still plastered on his stupid face. Harry was fast to tame the astray tendrils with his own clumsy hands, pushing the lengthy strands up and away from where they had fallen in his face. Harry glared after his cackling RIO. He was going to bleed Niall dry and use the sludge he collected to fuel Georgia Rose.

 

“Thanks for informing me of our plans in advance,” Harry muttered caustically once he and Louis were alone. They watched the group of recruits happily walking off the pitch and planning their evening at the bar with Niall at the very epicenter of it all.

 

Louis just smirked and followed after the recruits at a distance that allowed he and Harry the air of privacy. He nudged Harry’s ribs and then said, “Oops.”

 

“And now you’re stealing my line.”

 

Louis let out a soft chuckle. “But it’s such a good one. So articulate, so expressive, so smooth, so…you.”

 

Harry frowned, not sure if he was being mocked or praised. He was fairly certain that was a feeling he would have to get used to around Louis…if he was to be spending more time around Louis, that was. He wasn’t too sure if that was a good idea just yet.

 

“So what is it that we have to discuss that’s depriving me of a good dinner and movie date? I was fairly certain that I was given the afternoon and evening off from all ‘ _pilot stuff’_ ,” Harry asked. Louis walked at his side, kicking dirt up in a cloud around his feet with his cleats. Harry found their paces worked well together despite the differences in their leg lengths. Harry’s cadence was more a lazy amble where Louis’ was a determined stride. They evened out at a nice causal stroll.

 

Louis didn’t give him a straight answer. When did he ever? Instead he just said, “I’ll pick you up at 1700. I assume you’re staying at the cottages on base for the 1D recruits?”

 

Harry nodded. Suddenly this didn’t feel very much like “ _pilot stuff_ ” anymore, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

 

“Which one?” Louis asked.

 

“Number four.”

 

Louis smiled down at the ground and gave a small snort.

 

“What?” Harry asked.

 

“Just funny, is all. Fond memories. Nearly set that place on fire a fair few times trying to make myself a cuppa. I can fly a thirty million euro war bird, but I’m absolute shit in the kitchen.” He paused for a long moment, lost in the past, then said much softer, “That’s where I stayed. When I was here as a recruit. Cottage four.”

 

“Hm. So long ago. I’m surprised you can even remember,” Harry teased.

 

Louis smiled again, eyes crinkling. “Yes, because I’m _such_ an old man,” he huffed, still unable to stop his smile. It seemed that Louis loved nothing more than a good verbal spar.

 

“You really are a cougar,” Harry returned.

 

“Seasoned,” Louis countered.

 

“Senile.”

 

“Matured.”

 

“Impotent.”

 

“Hey, hey, now,” Louis stopped their little back and forth. “Me memory and hairline might be going, but at least I can still manage a boner at my advanced age. I don’t need Viagra just yet.”

 

“Well, good for you, old timer. I’m still a virile young stud, so my game is still strong,” Harry said, meaning for it to end all talk of boners for risk of Harry acquiring one.

 

Louis looked down at the front of Harry’s shorts with a smirk. “Yes. Hard to miss.”

 

Harry blushed, hot and red. He fought the urge to adjust himself with everything in his power. This was what he got for letting himself forget who he was talking to. This was still his instructor. Louis was still his _instructor_. He could not let himself forget that small, completely critical detail. Especially now with these upcoming _plans_ \- whatever they might be - on the agenda for the evening. “So 1700. Cottage four. I’ll see you there,” Harry stuttered.

 

“You will,” Louis replied, seeming to get great pleasure from Harry’s discomfort. Harry decided now was probably the best time to make his escape, so he started to trot forward towards the rest of the lads and away from Louis. Unfortunately, Louis’ voice rang out behind him. “Oh and Harold?”

 

Harry turned eagerly, so much so that he almost tripped and face planted…again. So much for not being desperate.

 

Louis bit his lip to contain his smile. “Probably best not to wear those shorts.”

 

“Why?” Harry asked curiously. Not that he had any intention of wearing these abominable shorts ever again. He had plans to fry them in Georgia Rose’s after burn.

 

“Where we’re going is a bit breezy. Wouldn’t want your bits making an unprecedented appearance,” Louis informed him.

 

“So what if they did?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. “Maybe I like them getting a little air. And I like these shorts. Like I said, I’m a proud, patriotic man.”

 

“And like _I_ said, I don’t need Viagra yet. So leave your patriotic pants at home, alright? See you at 1700.”

 

Maybe Harry wouldn't burn the shorts just yet.

 

“Affirmative, Commander. 1700. Pants-less,” Harry told him formally with a salute.

 

“Oh God,” Louis groaned with a shake of his head. “Just go, Bambi…Pigeon…whatever.”

 

Harry laughed and then jogged to catch up with Niall, who he could see eagerly waiting at the end of the field. The second Harry was within reach, Niall had an arm around him. Niall led him away, off in the direction of the recruit cottages.

 

“More chatter about the animal kingdom?” Niall asked, needling Harry in the ribs with his pointy little fingers.

 

Harry smiled, and turned to look over his shoulder. Louis was still standing on the pitch, watching them leave. Louis gave him a single nod and then went jogging off the other direction toward the main building.

 

“Nope. The subject was erectile dysfunction this time,” Harry offered happily.

 

Niall sighed. “For the love of all that is holy. You can lead the horse to water…” he muttered.

 

“What?”

 

“Never mind. Come on, Cinder-elly. We’ve got to get you ready for the ball. When is Prince Can’t-Get-It-Up’s carriage expected to arrive at our humble abode?”

 

“1700. And he _can too_ get it up. That’s what we were talking about,” Harry said haughtily.

 

Niall looked surprised at that. “Really? Hm. Maybe the horse _did_ have a drink after all.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about, mate? What bloody _horse_?”

 

“I told you to never mind about the fuckin’ horse,” Niall snapped. “Now come on. We don’t have much time, and you don’t have a Fairy Fuckin’ Godmother at your disposal…you just have me.”

 

Harry smiled down at his RIO, picturing him in a pink, sparkly flight suit and matching tiara, wielding a glittering wand like a sword and chanting out, “Bippity, Boppity, Boo” in his heavy brogue. The image was enough to make Harry forget how much he would like to tear out every single one of Niall’s blonde chest hairs and staple them to his chin to make a beard.

 

“Yea, Ni. I’ve got you. My Fairy Godfucker.”

 

 

  
xxxxx

 

 

  
When the clock tower - or really, Harry’s standard issue military wrist watch - struck five, the sound of an engine hummed down the street in front of the cottages and cut abruptly in front of cottage number four. Niall was already standing on alert at the front window, stealthily peering out between a slit in their blinds.

 

“He’s here!” Niall hollered, bolting through their little cottage to the bathroom where Harry was still fussing with his unruly hair. He skidded to a halt in the doorway, panting and out of breath. “Harry, he’s here! _He’s here!_ ”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, Niall. I heard you. Everyone on the block heard you. Thank you for informing me that our _instructor_ is here to pick me up for a _formal briefing_ about all things _pilot related_.”

 

Niall turned his head to the side and pursed his lips as he assessed Harry’s appearance. “If this is a ‘ _formal briefing_ ’ with your ‘ _instructor_ ’ about ‘all things _pilot related_ ,’ then why are you wearing your fuck-me jeans and a see-through shirt? I hardly think your nips can be classified as ‘pilot related’ topics.” Niall reached out to pinch at one of Harry’s nipples, just barely visible through the fabric of his shirt.

 

“It is not _see-through_. It is _sheer_. There is a difference.” He had no means to defend his jeans. They _were_ his fuck-me jeans. With all this talk about erections, Harry might as well look a _little_ bit tempting. After Sophia’s comments this week and Louis’ innuendos earlier today, Harry was starting to allow himself just a little smidgen of hope regarding Louis’ sexual preferences. Might as well test his theory. There wasn’t much harm in an innocent experiment purely for scientific purposes, right? Just to see if the jeans produced their advertised effect.

 

The doorbell rang and Niall jumped about a foot in the air. “Oh my God! It’s him! What do I do? What should I do, Harry? Do I answer the door? Do I, like, interrogate him? Show him my Beretta? Tell him I have a plot picked out for him in the back yard if he breaks your heart and show him the shovel I’ll use to dig it? _What do you want me to do!?_ ”

 

Harry turned from the mirror and stared at Niall with wide, wary eyes. “Firstly…calm down, _Dad_. This is not a date, so there’s no need for the hysterics or the threats. Keep the Beretta and the shovel stowed, please. I’ll get the door, you just go do…whatever it is that you do when I’m not around.”

 

Niall frowned. “You want me to jerk off and eat chicken wings until I pass out?”

 

Harry put his hands to his eyes. “Ugh. Didn’t need to know that. So did _not_ need that visual. Just sanitize the place when you’re done having your fun. And don’t do it on the couch, okay? Stains are a bitch to get out of that upholstery.”

 

“Loud and clear.” Niall saluted him before he scampered off to the kitchen where Harry also hoped the upcoming wank-and-wings fest would not be happening. “I hope your dick gets a little love tonight too, mate. It needs it!” Niall hollered through the house.

 

Harry groaned even louder and shouted back at Niall, “Thanks to you, ya leech! And there will sadly not be any action for my poor dick tonight that involves anyone’s hand other than mine. Enjoy your wank-a-thon and stop worrying about my dick! It’s just fine!”

 

The door bell rang again and Harry took one last look in the mirror. It would have to do. His hair would just get messy anyway given the warning of wind that Louis had passed along. He marched through the house and grabbed his leather bomber jacket and his keys by the front door before opening it to Louis on his doorstep.

 

Harry was suddenly very, very concerned for his dick. It was _not_ going to be fine. Not if he was going to have to stare at Louis looking like _that_ for the entirety of the night. He was wearing his skinny jeans again, ones just like he’d worn at the bar, but this time it was paired with a plain white t-shirt, aviator glasses and a patch covered leather jacket very similar to the one covering Harry’s sheer shirt. Louis’ own dog tags were proudly on display over the well worn fabric of his t-shirt, clicking against one another as he swayed from foot to foot. His hair was back in the artful tuft that it was on most days in the classroom, and Harry really liked that style on Louis. But for some reason, all he wanted to do was run his hands through it and mess it up again like it had been this afternoon on the pitch. Maybe the promised wind they would face this evening would do a good enough job of disheveling it. Harry hoped.

 

Louis slowly removed his aviators and pinned Harry with an amused look. “Did I hear something about a _wank-a-thon_?” he asked. “Sounds intriguing.”

 

Harry gulped heavily and tore his eyes away from ogling Louis framed so beautifully in his doorway. He shrugged. “Niall’s planning his evening.”

 

“Well now _my_ plans will seem lacking in comparison,” Louis teased. “You ready?”

 

Harry stepped out onto the front porch and slammed the door behind him, conveniently cutting off Niall mid call of something that was probably, “Don’t be silly, wrap the willy!”

 

They stood on the porch for a second, just staring at one another, before Louis inclined his head toward the car parked in front of Harry’s cottage. It was a gorgeous 1967 Austin-Healey 3000 Mark III all in powder blue and white. Harry wasn’t really a car man, much more knowledgable about things that tore up the sky rather than the pavement, but _this_ was a sexy car.

 

“Wow,” Harry remarked as they walked down the front path toward the shiny convertible.

 

Louis smiled. “Family heirloom. Me Grandda handed it down as a gift when I was promoted to Lieutenant Commander. She gets me from A to B.”

 

Harry snorted. “Oh yea. A car like this is _all_ about utility.”

 

“Who says you can’t travel in style, Styles?”

 

Harry went to approach the passenger side door with his hand outstretched to open it, but Louis beat him there. Then Louis just stood there awkwardly with his fingers curled around the handle for a moment. “Uhhh,” was all he said before swiftly opening the door for Harry.

 

Harry just watched in confusion, because Louis looked uncomfortable, and even more alarming… _unsure_.

 

Inside the house, Harry swore he heard something crash. His head whipped around just in time to see the blinds swinging wildly and a flash of a blonde something disappear behind them. Harry looked back to Louis, but he was still resolutely studying the door handle he was holding as if it held the secrets to all life’s questions.

 

“Um. Thanks,” Harry said, easing himself into the seat of the car. His long legs had a little trouble finding a comfortable position, but if he could manage a cockpit, he could manage this. It was strange to be in a car again, though. He had grown so used to either a plane or his motorcycle back home. Sadly he’d been unable to bring his bike to Fort Acaiseid and had to put it in storage until after graduation when he found out his permanent station. He really missed the wind in his hair flying down the road. He figured this was probably as close to that feeling as he could get with the drop top down. He’d still get a little bit of wind tonight.

 

Once Harry was inside, Louis shut the door and then hurried around the front of the car to the driver’s seat. He slid in, much more gracefully than Harry had done, and then jammed the keys into the ignition. The car purred to life below them, and Harry sighed. This really was a beautiful vehicle.

 

Louis did a quick check of his mirrors and then they were off, down the gravel road by the cottages and out onto the winding main road of the base. A few minutes passed quietly until they were off military property entirely, headed north away from both the base and the town of Thurso.

 

Once they were zipping down a road that hugged the coast, Louis reached over and fiddled with the radio dial, turning on an old Otis Redding classic. Louis drummed on the wheel along to the beat, and Harry settled more into his plush, leather seat. Harry had never been one to enjoy giving up the reins when it came to driving. He’d be a horrible RIO in that sense. But Louis was steady and smooth in his control of the car, and Harry was already very well aware of how effortlessly he controlled his plane, so Harry kicked back and just enjoyed the scenery of the beautiful costal drive.

 

“Where to?” Harry dared to ask over the soft flow of music and wind. He flicked on his own aviators from his jacket pocket to combat the glare of the late afternoon sun as it sunk down in the sky.

 

“You’ll see,” was all Louis said, “Music okay?” He gestured a hand down at the radio. “Feel free to change it if you want. I’m just partial to the old stuff, meself.”

 

Harry smiled. “Old guy, old music. I get it.”

 

Louis snorted at that.

 

Harry chuckled. “I like the music though. Classics never go out of style, right?”

 

“Us old, classics never do. Much better than the new age hipster shit, anyhow,” Louis’ eyebrow arched over his aviators, and Harry could tell Louis was looking him up and down.

 

Harry smiled and let his left hand flow out of the car and drift on the breeze. “Nothing wrong with a little new age hipster shit.”

 

Louis looked back at the road. “I guess not. As long as it comes with see-through attire.”

 

Now Harry was laughing. “Sheer! It’s _sheer_!” He was apparently the only man in the Royal Navy who knew anything about fashion.

 

“Whatever. I can see your nipples. Did you know?”

 

“Yes. I’m aware. I’ve got four of ‘em, so I might as well put them on display. Genetic anomaly, I am.”

 

“ _Four_?!” Louis yelped, eyes off the road and back on Harry’s chest.

 

“Hey! Eyes on the road!” Harry shot quickly when they swerved dangerously toward the edge of the cliff and a straight drop off down to the sea.

 

Louis gripped the wheel tighter with both hands and stared forward with unblinking eyes.

 

Another long silence encompassed the car as Louis drove down the coast with his body stiff and alert, hands at nine and five. Harry breathed a little easier when they turned off the main road from the coast and away from any risk of tumbling down into the raging waters of Thurso Bay.

 

Finally, Harry couldn’t take the quiet anymore. “Are we there yet? This drive is doing nothing to help my sore bum,” Harry asked, voice just hinting at a whine. As peachy as Harry’s bum might be, it was really starting to ache now. It didn’t have enough padding to withstand all the times he’d fallen on it during the game earlier today. Not like Louis’ bum. _That_ arse had it’s own force field.

 

Louis cleared his throat uncomfortably, and kept his eyes directed forward. “Um. We’re nearly there. Your arse will get some relief soon.”

 

Harry huffed and fidgeted around in his seat to find the lone spot on his bum not covered in a bruise.

 

Another few quiet minutes had them driving through another tiny little town that Harry saw was named Scrabster. Harry thought this would be their destination, but then the car raced right through the town and was back along the wide open coastal road. Harry was about to pipe up again, but his question was stopped in his throat when his eyes settled on a beautiful lighthouse just down the road. Louis seemed to be heading right for it.

 

With a small smile and a glance at Harry, Louis pulled the car off the main road and down a gravel path that led to the lighthouse and its keeper’s residence. He cut the ignition when they were within walking distance.

 

“Best views of the sunset in all of Scotland, I swear to you,” Louis finally said as means of explanation. With a bright grin, he got out of the car. He was halfway around the front of the car to open Harry’s door when Harry opened it himself. Harry was too busy staring up at the lighthouse in awe to notice Louis’ frown.

 

Harry stood and stared at the top of the lighthouse where the light - off now due to the sun still being up - would signal out to all the ships floating in the bay, leading them safely home to port in times of danger.

 

“Wanna go up?” Louis finally asked, pointing to the top where a small railing enclosed the light.

 

“Is it allowed?” Harry asked, brimming with excitement.

 

Louis smirked at him. “We’ll take our chances. The view is worth the risk.”

 

Harry followed Louis toward the lighthouse, their destination being a green wooden door that led into the tower of the lighthouse. It wasn’t a particularly tall tower. Harry had seen much more impressive towers during his time as a man that spent most of his days in or around the water. This tower was only a couple of stories at the most, made entirely of white brick and a few small windows, but its position on the high ground of the coast gave it a much larger appearance from the water. Aside from the keeper’s house attached to the tower, also made of the same white brick, the lighthouse was alone on its expansive plot of costal land…well, not entirely alone. There were sheep too, a whole flock of them littering the lush grounds and lazily grazing. Harry wondered if they too came here for the view, or if they were more interested in the rich, salty sea grass with which they were filling their stomaches. Probably the latter considering they didn’t even lift their heads to greet Louis and Harry as they walked through their midst.

 

“Welcome to Holburn Head lighthouse,” Louis announced once they were at the green entranceway. Louis pushed the door open with a loud, creaking noise, and then they were inside. “Completed in 1862 and providing safe passage to all sea travelers ever since. It’s been automated since 1988, but there’s still a lighthouse keeper here to make sure everything is in working order…and to tend to the sheep.”

 

Harry dropped his voice, immediately nervous. He didn’t imagine that being a lighthouse keeper was a job that attracted the most social of people given its solitary nature. Harry didn’t want any entanglements with an angry, old hermit used to his peace and quiet. “Aren’t you worried about trespassing?”

 

Louis just shook his head amusedly. “Don’t worry, I’ve bribed the sheep to keep quiet about us being here. We’ll be fine.”

 

“Hardly reassuring,” Harry muttered.

 

Inside the main level of the lighthouse, Harry saw nothing but a door leading to what must be the keeper’s private residence and a spiral staircase that led upward. Harry tilted his head back and looked up toward the ceiling, very far away from his place on the ground.

 

The sound of a door opening startled Harry.

 

“Lou! Nice t’ see ya!” a gruff, aged man said from the doorway to the keeper’s home. “I ‘aven’t seen y’around ‘ere in awhile. Been busy with all that teaching crap, eh?”

 

Louis nudged Harry with his elbow. “Told you the sheep were trustworthy,” he whispered to Harry before greeting the keeper. “Angus! How’ve you been, you old devil. Haven’t changed a bit since I last saw you. Just as ugly now as you’ve always been.”

 

Angus cackled, laugh hardened by years of smoking. “And you’re just as cheeky too. Who’ve ya brought with ya? It’s always been just you before. Never’ve brought…a friend…before.” The keeper looked back and forth between the two of them curiously.

 

“Just wanted to share the view,” Louis said casually. “Mind if we have a look?”

 

“Sure, sure! Trust you know the way?”

 

“Only one way up unless you’ve installed an elevator since I’ve last been here,” Louis said, head flicking to the stairs.

 

The man cackled again, then he looked to Harry. “Don’t know how ya put up with this one. Always ‘as something t’ say.”

 

“Gee. Thanks for singing my praises, Angus. Remind me to bring all my dates here so you can talk me up,” Louis snarked.

 

Harry’s eyes immediately turned to Louis and Angus gave an exaggerated, “OoooOOOoooo,” from his doorway.

 

“Date?” Harry squeaked, trying his best not to float right up to the top of the tower like a helium balloon. He wouldn’t even need the stairs.

 

Louis’ eyes widened comically. “Not that this is a date! It’s not. _Definitely_ not a date. No. You can leave the dates to Horan…because this is not a date.”

 

Angus only laughed harder. “Smooth, Lou. Real charmin’. No wonder you’ve never brought a bloke ‘ere before.”

 

“Oh yeah, I wonder why?” Louis snapped, leveling Angus with a surly scowl.

 

Angus held both his hands up innocently. “Well _you_ might not be a charmer, but I’m sure your non-date will be charmed by the view. Go on up. Just lock the door when you leave. And don’t be a stranger! You’re welcome back any time. Both of you.”

 

Angus gave Harry a friendly smile and then waved at them before he retreated into his residence.

 

“Sorry about him,” Louis said sheepishly, playing with his fringe. “Doesn’t get out much, that one. A little rough around the edges.”

 

“I liked him,” Harry mused, still smiling at the fond exchange of two old friends. He was having a really hard time reconciling this Louis from the one he knew at 1D, the one who was vicious and unrelenting. This version reminded Harry of the one he had been charmed by the first night at the bar. He wondered which one was a more accurate depiction of the man. “For all his ribbing, it’s clear he’s quite fond of you. You’ve known him long?”

 

Louis nodded. “Used to come here a lot when I was a recruit. He was the keeper back then too. Has been since the seventies, I’m pretty sure.”

 

“He’s good people. Reminded me a bit of Niall, actually. The kind of guy you can’t help but like.”

 

Louis looked down at the ground. “Yeah. Niall. Seems like a nice bloke. I can tell he’s special to you.”

 

“He is,” Harry said without hesitation. “We’ve been _us_ since we met the first day of basic training all those years ago. He practically bulldozed me trying to beat me to line at the mess hall for lunch. Didn’t even apologize. Just said in that damned brogue of his that food came first and anyone who got in his way could fuck right off. That was how I met him. By the time I finally fought my way up to the serving station, all the good biscuits were gone, and I was left with the stale ones that were covered in what was probably some kind of deadly mold. Next thing I know, someone’s sliding a fresh biscuit onto my tray. And there’s that same heavy Irish accent saying, ‘ _We’ve gotta get ya to toughen up, mate, or ya won’t get fed around here. Enjoy that fuckin’ biscuit, because I’m not hustlin’ food for ya ever again_.’ Of course that was a lie. Niall has been dropping elbows for me ever since, and not just for food. He knows I’d do the same for him. Don’t get me wrong, there are days when I’d love nothing more than to stand him right in the wake of the after burn and fry all his hair off, but most of the time he’s alright…more than alright. He’s my everything. He's been my only constant.”

 

Louis nodded, having nothing more to say about Niall it seemed. He just looked…sad. Somber and far away. Maybe he’d never had a RIO before. Maybe he didn’t understand just how special the bond was between a pilot and his RIO. Harry couldn’t imagine how lonely it must be flying by oneself. Harry thought back to what Sophia said about Louis needing a wingman. Now Harry was starting to understand what she meant. Then he thought about what Zayn had said about the effects of loneliness. No wonder Sophia worried for Louis.

 

Finally Louis asked, “So how are those legs of yours holding up?” He nodded his head at the spiral staircase that followed the walls of the tower and led to the top.

 

“They’ll manage.”

 

“Didn’t do such a good job managing during the match,” Louis teased.

 

“Hey. They did alright,” Harry said indignantly. “For the first half at least…”

 

“Oh yeah. They won you the bloody Ballon d’Or, they did.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and marched his supposedly incompetent legs right to the stairs and started climbing. He could hear Louis chuckling behind him, but he just kept going, doing his best not to miss a step for fear of further humiliation. After about a flight with Louis following him, the laughter died down. Then Louis just mumbled, “Nice jeans.”

 

So there was that hypothesis proven correct. Harry preened and tried not to wag his hips too outrageously for the next four flights of stairs.

 

By the time they got to the top, Harry was no longer worried about the view of his backside. He was sincerely happy that the tower was so short, because he didn’t think his poor legs could handle much more. The jeans might look good, but they didn’t do much in the way of easy movement.

 

“Legs still managing now?” Louis asked, as if reading his mind.

 

“You bet,” Harry wheezed.

 

Louis pushed through another door and then Harry was instantly met with the wind that Louis had promised. All thought of his tired legs was gone.

 

He stepped out onto the platform around the top of the tower and the view stole whatever breath hadn’t already been taken by the wind. He could see the entirety of Thurso Bay from this vantage, all the way down the coast in both directions, even as far as Fort Acaiseid. To the west, the sun hovered over the horizon, painting the water below it a rich, shimmering gold. The sky itself was streaked with colors…yellow, pink, orange, blue, indigo…all the colors of a flame setting the clouds ablaze. It was the most beautiful picture Harry had ever seen, much more so because it was ever changing, moving in its frame as the sun continued to drop.

 

“It’s…” Harry mumbled, his hands clutching the top bar of the railing to ground him.

 

Louis nodded and leaned his arms forward on the railing too. “Yea. I know.”

 

Harry watched the sunset until every sliver of its light was gone, leaving nothing but soft twilight in its wake. The sea waters cresting against the rocks below them provided the only soundtrack, blowing misty spray up against the tower that just barely kissed Harry’s face.

 

“I like to come here every so often when I need a little perspective,” Louis finally spoke, pushing up to mirror Harry’s position by the railing. He took off his leather jacket and draped it over the railing, enjoying the breeze on his bare arms. As Harry had hoped, Louis’ hair was a shaggy mess again, and he hadn’t bothered to fix its disarray. “There’s something about this place that always makes me feel small. It’s good to feel small sometimes. Reminds me that even though we like to think ourselves larger than life when we fly, we’re at the mercy of whoever up there paints us such pretty sunsets.”

 

Harry reluctantly turned his face away from God’s artwork and looked at Louis. In this light, his eyes were a deeper shade than normal, still beautiful, but not quite the same vivid blue they normally were. There was more navy in them now, like a well worn pair of jeans. Soft and comfortable.

 

Harry looked away from Louis’ eyes and down at his arms…specifically Louis’ own display of beautiful artwork.

 

“You do like your symbolism,” Harry commented, pointing to Louis’ right arm.

 

Louis smiled and traced his delicate fingers right over the big, obvious bird tattoo Harry had noticed earlier today. “At my advanced age, I need something to remind me of the important stuff, else I’ll just forget it entirely. Dementia is a heartless bitch, Harold.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. The age jokes were getting tired, but Harry had started them after all. “Interesting choice of something to be remembered considering your general aversion to anything with beaks and feathers.”

 

Louis chuckled at Harry and clicked his tongue. “Now wait a moment. I never said that. I believe I only said I hate _pigeons_ …vile little things that make it their business to shit on everything and everyone. I don’t hate _all_ birds,” Louis said in his uppity Yorkshire lilt. “And this isn’t a pigeon anyway. Aren’t you supposed to be the avian expert, Sparrow? I’m disappointed.”

 

“I know it’s not a pigeon. And it’s not a sparrow either. I’ve got two of my own,” Harry said, voice equally posh. He pulled open the collar of his shirt until his pretty pair of sparrows were visible. Louis’ eyes dropped down to Harry’s chest as he studied the tattoos. It made Harry shudder, and not because of the wind’s chill seeping through his shirt. “I’m just surprised you’ve got a bird too since I thought you hated them.”

 

“We share the sky with them, so it would be pretty bloody stupid for a pilot to hate them. There’s a lot we can learn from birds. Most pilots don’t know that - too bloody arrogant, thinking they own the sky - but birds are our true teachers. Fly like them and you won’t lose.”

 

Harry was stunned…not by what Louis was saying, but by the fact that he had heard this all before, just from a very different source.

 

“I agree,” Harry said fondly, thinking of all those hours spent bird watching as a young boy…thinking of his Dad. “Brilliant tutors. Much better than the ones I’ve got now,” he added teasingly.

 

Louis snorted unattractively, tracing the tattoo again.

 

“So what kind of bird is that?” Harry asked, daring to reach a finger out and tap Louis’ inked skin.

 

“A swift,” Louis said simply. “Agile, intuitive, ferocious…they’re beautiful little flyers.”

 

Harry nodded. “I’m partial to sparrowhawks myself.”

 

Louis smiled and looked back at Harry’s chest where one of his birds was visible at his still gaping neckline. “I’m not surprised.”

 

“Most sailors get swallow tattoos, you know? Navy ties and all that,” Harry commented. “Zayn - er…I mean Lt. Malik - he’s got a swallow on his hand. Supposed to symbolize coming home after a long journey at sea. I’ve known a few other Navy blokes with swallows too.”

 

Louis nodded. “I guess we’re a little more unconventional then, aren’t we?”

 

“Maybe we’re just really fond of symbolism.”

 

Louis’ eyes met Harry’s again with a playful light in them. “And prone to memory lapses.”

 

Harry bravely stepped closer to Louis. “I know your mind is still sharp. What I don’t know is why you brought me here.”

 

“Like I said…perspective. Everyone can use a little perspective.”

 

Harry shook his head. “No. I mean…if everyone can use perspective, why did you bring _me_?”

 

Louis looked up at him, and there was that discomfort again, written in the pinch of his brow and the teeth set into his lower lip. His eyes were deeper now, matching the waters that were darkening in the falling of the day and rising of the night.

 

“I know it's been shit here for you so far. Hell, I remember how tough it was as a recruit. The never-ending stress, the crushing pressure, constantly having people tell you that you aren’t good enough. I remember asking myself why I was doing it, why I shouldn’t just give it up. I was lucky to have people around me that helped me figure it out. I want to pay it forward now that I’m on the other end of things. Seemed like you could use a little guidance. What better place than a lighthouse.”

 

Harry shook his head. He didn’t like that answer. It wasn't good enough. It wasn't even an apology, because most of the reason that things had been such _shit_ here at 1D was the man standing next to him. And Louis knew that.

 

“I see," Harry spat. "Funny, that, considering up until this point, you’ve only been adding to the stress that you’re suddenly trying to abate. So what, you finally realized that all your _positive encouragement_ in class wasn’t exactly doing the trick? I think maybe a simple discussion in your office on base could have accomplished the same goal. No need to drag me here to the middle of nowhere, no matter how nice the view. Dr. Smith already talked to me this week in her office, since apparently _everyone_ can see I’m at risk for self-destruction. The message has been received. Loud and clear.”

 

Louis eyes suddenly turned fierce. Gone was the playful banter they had been enjoying before. It was blown away on the breeze and replaced with something much sharper, much more intense…much hotter. Despite the chill in the evening air, Harry was starting to sweat.

 

“What did Sophia…Dr. Smith…what did she say to you?” Louis asked, voice low and hostile.

 

Harry took a step away from Louis, straightening his spine. “Nothing. Just the same thing you are. That I’m going to fuck everything up.”

 

“You aren’t going to fuck anything up,” Louis told him sharply.

 

“That’s what she said that _you_ said. Albeit not in so many words.”

 

Now Louis was _really_ angry. “Did she now? Well, what else did she have to say about me behind my back? Do tell.”

 

“Nothing,” Harry said. Immediately he asked the question that he knew would broadcast to Louis that his statement was a lie. “Why are you teaching here at Premier Delta?”

 

Louis looked away, jaw clenching tight. “Don’t ask me that. It’s none of your business.”

 

“So it’s okay for you to ask me what I’m doing here, but I can’t ask the same in return?”

 

“It’s different.”

 

“Different how, Sir? Because you’re the instructor? Because you’re my superior?”

 

Louis smacked his hand down on the railing, eyes positively blazing. This was more the Louis that Harry was used to. Except this version was a little bit more defensive than normal.

 

“I’m _not_ your bloody superior right now. And I told you _not_ to call me Sir.” His voice was loud and bitter, echoing off the walls of the tower and the jagged rocks below them.

 

“Than what are you?” Harry asked, voice rising just as much.

 

Louis paused for a moment, then he looked down at his hands, white knuckled on the railing. The anger seemed to deflate from his body, and he slumped down further against the railing. His grip loosened and he sighed heavily.

 

“Haven’t quite figured that out yet. I’ll let you know,” he murmured, not for the first time today.

 

Harry wanted to groan, but he wasn't sure what kind of frustration was fueling that feeling right now. “Seems like maybe you’re the one who needs to do the thinking. Maybe you’re the one who needs the perspective.”

 

“Yeah,” Louis snorted. “Probably wasn’t my best move to bring the very reason I need the damn perspective with me when I’m trying to find it.”

 

Harry looked to Louis suddenly, alarmed by what he had just said and all its implications. He wanted to ask Louis. He wanted to force him to just come out with it and tell him what was going on.

 

Louis’ voice broke through the mess in Harry’s mind. “I should probably get you back. Your boyfriend is waiting for you. Maybe the two of you can still have that date after all. This was clearly a mistake.”

 

Harry’s whirling thoughts stuttered to a stop. “My…my _what_?”

 

Louis narrowed his eyes. “Niall. Your boyfriend. Your ‘ _everything_ ,’ as you so amorously put it.”

 

Harry could not suppress the manic laughter that tore from his throat.

 

Louis frowned at him, seeming to think that Harry was laughing at him for some reason. Well, he was, really. But only because what Louis had said was so utterly ridiculous that the only visceral response _was_ laughter.

 

Niall. Niall Horan. His boyfriend.

 

Harry would rather guzzle jet fuel.

 

“ _Oh my God_ ,” Harry finally wheezed. If he kept this up he was going to need his inhaler.

 

“I don’t see why it’s so damn funny. You were just telling me your epic love story with him winning you over with biscuits not even a half hour ago.”

 

That set Harry off again. The tears were streaming down Harry’s face now.

 

Louis had no choice but to reach a hand out and grab a patch of Harry’s hair in his fist. He tugged the fistful _hard_ , and Harry abruptly stopped all laughter. His eyes widened and focused in on Louis’ expression, heated for a very different reason than their previous fight. Everything else around Harry just disappeared. The view, the crashing of the waves, the breeze, the chill against his exposed skin. It was all gone in that moment.

 

Louis kept his grip on Harry’s hair and slowly pulled him down. Harry went easily until they were just a breath’s width away from one another, mouths lined up and eyes locked, green on blue.

 

Harry couldn’t breathe. There was no air here in Louis’ space. It was a vacuum. Louis had consumed Harry’s air, had stolen his breath, and now Harry had nothing but the need to press his lips to Louis’ to see if that was enough to sustain him. It was irrational and stupid and totally insane for so many reasons, but Harry found that he didn’t ever want his breath back if it meant being this close to Louis. He’d gladly lose his breath again and again as long as Louis was willing to take it.

 

Louis’ haunted eyes fluttered shut, casting the shadows of his eyelashes against those sharp cheekbones of his. Harry closed his as well and moved in closer.

 

He relinquished his last breath and waited.

 

A blinding light bore right through the cover of Harry’s eyelids, and his eyes popped open as he pulled back with a gasp. Louis pulled back too, and Harry watched as Louis’ body was shrouded in white light for a moment before he went dark again.

 

“Angus must have turned it on,” Louis said dumbly, rubbing a shaky hand over his mouth and looking anywhere but Harry.

 

Around and around the light inside the glass of the tower spun as they stood in silence, a beacon of perpetual motion, bringing all the wayward sea men home to safety even in the darkest of hours.

 

“His timing is impeccable,” Harry commented.

 

Louis sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Ugh. No. His timing is shit.”

 

Harry brought his hand up to play with his dog tags. Louis eyed him at the tinkling sound. “I’m sorry,” Louis finally said. “I shouldn’t have let it get that far. I was out of line. I don’t want you to be unfaithful to Niall, and I’m sure you don’t either. I just got…caught up.”

 

Harry stepped forward bravely. If there was ever a time to take a risk, it was now. Damn all his worries and concerns. Damn the fact that he had been telling himself for the past three weeks that this was not possible. Looking at the undeniable lust in Louis’ eyes told him the exact opposite. Harry had every intention of throwing caution to the wind and flinging himself down the vortex. He was already dizzy. He might as well lose all balance now.

 

“Is the light turning on the only reason you stopped what was about to happen? Or would you have stopped because of Niall?” Harry asked.

 

Louis shook his head, messing up his fringe again with agitated fingers. “I’d like to think the second reason? The one about Niall?”

 

Harry smiled and took another step closer. “What if I told you that wasn’t a reason at all?”

 

Louis’ eyes widened. “I don’t…I mean…I…I...it's not?”

 

Harry reached up and put a single finger to Louis’ lips. “Niall’s not my boyfriend. Definitely, _definitely_ not my boyfriend. You can ask him. He’ll tell you how very much we _aren’t_ boyfriends. Actually, don’t ask him. He’s been obsessively clingy lately for some reason, so he’d probably tell you we were just for kicks to start trouble. But we’re not together. He’s not even gay.”

 

“And you are.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Apparently so are you.”

 

“Was there a doubt about that?” Louis asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

Harry laughed. “Long story. Let’s just say that I may have told Dr. Smith that the pair of you were my relationship goal.”

 

“ _Soph!?_ ” Louis choked. “Oh my god, were all the sexually charged comments I made over the past few weeks not telling enough? I felt like a bloody teenager, fresh from the closet. It’s not like I’ve got a rainbow painted on my plane, but I thought I was being pretty fucking obvious. I tried not to be, but its kind of hard around you.”

 

“Well you did think I was dating Niall, so I guess neither of us are good at picking up on subtleties.”

 

“It would seem that way,” Louis sighed, taking a step of his own closer to Harry.

 

They were back in that space again where Harry was starting to feel lightheaded, starting to feel like his chest was working that little bit harder to take in the air. He really liked this space, even if he did worry about its effects on the health of his lungs.

 

“You do know that this is going to be complicated, right?” Louis told him, but he wasn’t backing away.

 

“Professional distance and all?” Harry replied, willing himself to keep breathing.

 

Louis leaned in further until he was right against Harry’s ear. “I think that’s shot to shit by now, don’t you agree?”

 

Harry gave a small shrug. Harry wasn’t sure if Louis even saw it in the dark.

 

“Just…just keep it quiet. Okay?” Louis asked, and Harry could feel Louis’ words fluttering the hair curling over his ear. He pulled back until he was looking at Harry again, wearing a fond smile.

 

“Keep what quiet?” Harry whispered.

 

Louis reached a hand out, fingers brushing over one of Harry’s sparrows. They followed the chain of his dog tags down and finally brushed against the imprinted steel. He drew his hand back and then said, “This.”

 

Harry held his breath, closed his eyes, and felt the press of soft lips against his cheek right at the edge of his lips where his smile lines were already threatening to dent. It was over in a second, and already Harry was desperate for more. Louis smiled softly at Harry, and Harry knew he wasn’t alone in that feeling.

 

The light from the lighthouse kept flashing over Louis’ face on and off, on and off, leaving him shining one moment and then dark the next. But the truth was that Louis didn’t need something to light him up. He was luminous all on his own, shining from something deep within. He was just so bright, with light bleeding out of his every pore. Harry wanted to soak him up, just stand and bask in his presence so that maybe a little bit of that light might shine on him too and light up his dark spots. Harry wanted to be the ship to Louis’ light. Because God knew that Harry was searching for a safe haven…something to guide him home. Wherever that was.

 

Louis took his hand tentatively and led him down the tower of the lighthouse and back to his car. They didn’t talk most of the way home as they traveled down the now darkened roads, because there was still so much to consider in all of this. But there was a promise there in the silence. A wordless promise that had been made under the flashing glow of the lighthouse. It was the promise of time. This wasn’t over yet. It was just beginning. Harry’s only worry now was that time wouldn’t be on their side. Week three was over, which meant that they were half way through the program. Harry wasn’t sure where the last three weeks would take him, but if there was anything to be certain based on the first three, it would be that his struggles were far from over. Harry just hoped that Louis would no longer continue to be one of those struggles.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

  
When the car pulled away from cottage four later that evening, Harry stood with his back pressed against the inside of the door and took in his first real, full breath in what felt like days. He might not survive this. He might not be able to keep this from turning into a big, fiery wreck when all was said and done. But he also knew he didn’t have the power to stop it now that it had started. He would just have to hope that a bit of fancy flying would be enough to keep him from ending up in a crash and burn disaster.

 

With a heaving sigh, he peeled himself from the door and trudged through their little cottage. Harry could hear the melody of Berlin’s “ _Take My Breath Away_ ” playing from the living room television when he rounded the corner to search for his RIO. He found Niall sitting on the couch, shirtless and surrounded by empty beer bottles, with a chicken wing hanging out of his mouth and his hand down his pants as he watched the iconic love scene in _Top Gun_. His eyes were transfixed to the screen, and he didn’t even notice Harry’s presence until Harry threw the remote right at his head.

 

“Niall Horan. You’ve got some serious explaining to do. And for the love of Christ, how many times do I have to tell you not to do that on our couch!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shenanigans (of all kinds) ensue as 1D takes to the high seas!
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and for the lovely comments! They are so very much appreciated. Feel free to say hello here or on Tumblr (RealityBetterThanFiction). 
> 
>  
> 
> Cheers!


	6. Premier Delta (HMS Elizabeth) - Week Four - (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Premier Delta fly boys board the HMS Elizabeth to take their training to the real world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> Major apologies about the delay in this getting posted. I’m a bit of a perfectionist and without a beta, I edit and second guess myself into oblivion. I’ve decided to break up this chapter (week four) into two parts so I can get one out to you faster while I continue to work on the next one. Thanks for being patient and sticking around!
> 
> I’m so blown away by all the kind comments and excitement for this story. Like I’ve said before, best squadron around! I know things have been difficult lately in the fandom, but please remember to love one another and always treat one another with respect. Let this continue to be a safe space that fosters creativity and happiness. Hugs to everyone, and as Harry would say…all the love.
> 
> I’m sorrrrrrrry about the massive glossary below, but I’ve been doing a lot of research on aircraft carriers and fighter jets for this story, so now you’re all going to have to suffer through my geek out moment. Things are highly over simplified so apologies to anyone who had any actual real world knowledge of avionics and aerodynamics, but I promise reading it will help things make a little more sense in the story since procedures on the carrier are a little crazy.
> 
> Enjoy and thanks for reading!!
> 
> P.S. This goes out to Bubblymar. Your fondness for RIO!Niall's antics rivals my own. :)  
>  
> 
> Mood Music
> 
> Battleships - Daughtry  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4bj0MwP1_fw  
> (could this song be any more perfect??!!)
> 
>  
> 
> Learn to Fly - Foo Fighters  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOQV__Z55eE  
> (another anthem for this story)
> 
>  
> 
> Come Fly With Me - Frank Sinatra  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HmQq6yLe2ww

**RealityBetterThanFiction’s Crash-Course to Aviation:**

 

Carrier - A big ass ship that carries a lot of people, a lot of planes and a lot of firepower. It is the centerpiece of the Navy forces, where jets of all kinds are launched off the carrier to mount their attacks. One hundred thousand tons of terror at sea.

Flight deck - The flat top level of the carrier where jets are launched via several frighteningly short runways (more on that later). It’s a zoo. Controlled chaos.

Hanger bay - The level below the flight deck where the aircrafts are stored when not in use. It is connected to the flight deck by a lift system kind of like a massive elevator that allows planes and weaponry to be transported between levels.

Topside / Below Deck - Topside is going up to the flight deck, and below deck is the opposite.

Racks - Bunk beds…what fun! As you can guess, space is a luxury that is nowhere to be found in these carriers, so everything gets pretty cozy (aka cramped as all hell).

Galley - The kitchen…Niall’s favorite place

Ready Room - Basically the hang out spot for each squadron where the pilots wait until they are needed.

Air Boss and Mini Boss - The brains of all flight operations. They are commanding officers that sit up in the tower and are responsible for coordination of all launches and making sure that everything on the flight deck is running smoothly. Big dogs on campus.

Wheels in the well - Wheels up, baby! It’s go time.

Pull Chocks - Chocks are wedges that are placed around the jet’s wheels to stop it from rolling right off the side of the carrier. Chocks must be “pulled” before a jet can move.

Catapult System or “Cat” - Of all the research I’ve done, here’s the absolute most terrifying part of being a Navy pilot. So the length of a carrier ship’s runway is only about 300ft, right? Now compare that to a normal runway that is about 6,000ft. Because of this ( _minor…ha!_ ) discrepancy, a catapult system is needed to physically  _launch_  the fighter jets into the air. The Cat is basically a really bad ass steam gun that builds up pressure from the nuclear reactors below deck and literally shoots the jet off the carrier. The “shooter” below deck will calibrate the Cat based on type of jet and wind speed and is in charge of pushing the “go” button to launch the jet. The system is able to propel jets from 0mph to 160mph in 3 seconds. Talk about great balls of fire!

Jet blast deflector - Pretty self explanatory. Part of the flight deck’s surface that lifts up behind a jet during launch to stop the blast of the jet’s engines from blowing the deck crew off the back of the ship.

Tail Hook - If there is anything scarier than the literal hell that is take off, it’s landing. In order to land the jet on such a small runway, the pilot will drop the “tailhook” off the back of the plane, which is quite literally exactly what it sounds like. Upon landing, the hook will catch one of four arresting wires that will help decelerate the plane to a stop. The plane decelerates from 150mph to 0mph in only a few seconds. Pilots aren’t alway able to catch the wire with their tailhook on the first go around, so when they are landing, they push their throttle forward to accelerate in case they need to take off again and make another approach to land. Can you say whiplash!?

Optic Landing System (OLS) - This is the light system that helps pilots land their plane and judge distance and height as they approach the carrier. It is usually the RIO’s job to spot the system as the pilot talks with the Landing Signal Officer (LSO) so the plane won’t smash into the back of the carrier or miss the arresting wires completely. The main light is called a “meatball” (Niall likes that name very much…yum) and its position is compared to a line of green lights called the datum lights telling the pilot if he is too high or too low during descent. There are also red lights on the OLS that indicated “wave off,” meaning the flight deck is not ready for a pilot to land.

Pop the boards - Speed brake system where pieces of the wings lift up to deflect air and help stop the plane. Next time you are in a plane and it is landing, take a peek out your window to see these bad boys in action.

Shirts - Crews on the flight deck wear different colored gear or “shirts” depending on their role

            Yellow - aircraft director that directs planes to the Cat w/ hand signals

            Green - maintenance

            Red - load weaponry and bombs

            Purple - fuel

G-LOC (G induced loss of consciousness) - Yep. Go too hard and you pass out. In a jet. Going 300mph. In the middle of the sky. Over the ocean. Yep.

Centrifuge training - To prepare pilots for the g forces they will endure in a dogfight, they are trained in a machine that replicates these forces. Squeezing their legs and core helps bring blood back to their head preventing G-LOC. I suggest you watch this video to show you just how terrifying it is. I would probably puke at like 2 g’s.

[Centrifuge Training](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXQKl-28zn0)

_Heart of Oak_ \- Royal Navy pride song. Niall can even recite the words blind drunk and half asleep.

 

 

Story starts below...Enjoy!

 

 

xxxx

 

 

There was nothing in the world that Harry loved more than this very feeling. For the first time since starting at Premier Delta, Harry felt like a real Navy pilot, and that was because for the first time, Harry was home. Gliding across the smooth waters of the North Sea as the beautiful HMS Elizabeth sliced through the waves and led him further into the oblivion where the world was only made of sky and sea. This had always been the one thing that kept Harry going through all the anxiety and agony that came along with being a fighter pilot. This feeling of freedom.

 

Harry stood on the flight deck with the wind whipping through his hair and gazed lovingly at the water on all sides of him that extended for as far as his eyes could see. As he breathed in the salt soaked air, Harry felt a great peace settle over him. It was ironic, in that sense, since this was the place where it was the most dangerous to be actually _be_ a Navy pilot. Harry thought he kind of liked that, though. To him it was a little bit poetic that the very thing he loved so much also had the most power to end him. But weren’t most great loves that way, really?

 

“Well, I can see _someone’s_ chipper this morning,” Niall commented, dropping his rucksack down and slinging his arm over Harry’s shoulders.

 

Harry wrapped his own arm around Niall’s waist. “Always good coming home.”

 

“I suppose. I still favor the grassy, green knolls of Ireland meself, but I guess that has more to do with the people there than the actual place itself. Family will always be home to me.”

 

Harry’s bright mood flickered for just a moment thinking about how very different he and Niall were in that sense. They had a lot in common due to spending so much time with one another over the years in the service, but that was one of the things they would never really share. Niall might be a national of England now, but he would certainly never forget what he had left behind when he moved to London as a teenager to pursue his dreams of being a pilot in the Royal Navy. 

 

Niall was the product of a big, boisterous Irish family…four older brothers, two older sisters, three in-laws, five nieces and nephews, three dogs, two cats and a collection of goldfish, most of whom were still stuffed into one shoebox of a house on the outskirts of a small town in county Westmeath. Niall would not be the man he was today without the love and support of those people, and Harry could see so much of them reflected in his friend. Niall’s parents taught him to never give up, his brothers taught him how to pound Guinness and throw a right hook, his sisters taught him how to woo the prettiest lassies - and what to do if you found yourself in trouble with said lassies - and they all loved life just as much as Niall did. His parents, Molly and Patrick, were the stereotypical warm and welcoming Irish type, always willing to put Harry up when he visited with Niall despite the fact their house was already bursting with bodies. Harry never minded having to cuddle up with Niall in his old twin bed, because there was something about being at the Horan residence that made Harry feel settled. Harry had always been more the wandering type, never claiming permanent roots, always drifting. But for those few precious days when Harry stayed with the Horans, he wondered what it might be like to have something like that…have _people_ like that…people who didn’t look at him like he was a stranger whenever he came around for the occasional visit while passing through Cheshire.

 

Niall instantly recognized his slip based on Harry’s far away gaze. Niall gave Harry a firm squeeze around the shoulders. “I guess I’ve got a little bit of family here though, eh? I’ve got me brother. That’s home enough for me.”

 

Harry nodded, pulling himself back to the present. “Yea. It’s…it’s enough,” Harry murmured.

 

Niall still watched him carefully, but decided better than to question the uncertainty in Harry’s wavering voice. “Alright then, brother. Now let’s start plottin’ about how we’re gonna shake up these rankings and knock Li and Z off their mighty pedestal, eh? I love the blokes, don’t get me wrong, but _we_ are getting that trophy. It’s going to be ours, Sparrow. I’ve already got a nice place picked out for it over the toilet back home at Mum and Da’s so everyone can see it when they come over and adore at my shrine. I will not have you ruining our chances by going soft on me. Got it?”

 

Harry chuckled, imagining the shiny, ostentatious 1D trophy next to the framed home made cross stitch in the Horan bathroom that read, “ _If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweety and wipe the seaty._ ”

 

“Roger that, Craic. Roger that.”

 

“Good. Now get your arse smiling again because we are kings of the fucking world right now. Might as well start flying.”

 

Harry looked around in mock confusion. “Hm. I thought I boarded the HMS Elizabeth. Must have gone up the wrong gangway. Didn’t realize I was aboard the Titanic.”

 

Niall snorted. “Come on, Rose, let’s go find your Jack. Heard he was around here to give us the grand welcome.”

 

They both grabbed their rucksacks and headed off in the direction of where the other recruits were standing about waiting for their orders. Captain Cowell and the rest of the instructors were a ways off talking with the the HMS Elizabeth’s Air Boss to be sure that everything was in order for the 1D recruits to join proceedings here on the carrier.

 

The HMS Elizabeth was a fully functioning carrier, the largest in the Royal Navy’s fleet. She was not a training ship. She was not here to serve the purpose of the 1D pilots. She was here to do real work and real battle, if necessary. Her crew was gracious enough to allow 1D a temporary home to complete their training in a real world environment. That being the case, it was expected that the 1D pilots would be respectful of the fact that they were visitors. Captain Cowell had already warned them of this several times before boarding the ship, and Harry was pretty sure the warnings would turn to outright threats if anyone stepped even the slightest toe out of line. This was not the place to mess around.

 

With a salute between them, the Air Boss and Captain Cowell parted ways. The Air Boss headed back to the tower, the heart of all flight operation, and Captain Cowell marched toward his recruits.

 

“Gentleman,” Captain Cowell began in his no bullshit tone. “Welcome aboard the HMS Elizabeth. The crew wishes you their welcome. In order to make this a more realistic experience, we are going to be treating you as a full fledged squadron instead of a training class. That means that the stakes will be higher and there will be no leeway for any type of violations to the rules and regulations of this carrier. Be warned…”

 

“Again,” Niall muttered under his breath against Harry’s ear.

 

“…that there will be serious repercussions for anyone unable to meet these expectations. If there are any questions or concerns, you are expected to take them up with your squadron leader, as you would do if you were a veteran pilot on this carrier. He will then raise them to the proper authorities up the chain as appropriate. While here, your acting squadron leader will be Rogue.”

 

Louis stepped up to Captain Cowell’s side and nodded his head once. The recruits all saluted him to indicate their understanding of his authority. 

 

Harry watched Louis carefully as Captain Cowell droned on with more warnings about proper decorum while on the carrier. It was easy to see that this wasn’t really Louis standing before them. This was Commander Tomlinson. Over the past two days since the lighthouse, Harry had come to realize that in order to navigate this tenuous arrangement between them, he was going to have to find a way to separate _his_ Louis with the all-business one that was still very much his superior. It would not be easy, but Harry figured it would help him manage the next few weeks at 1D with his sanity intact. Hopefully.

 

“If the squadron will follow me,” Louis announced once Captain Cowell had finished his litany, “We’ll be heading to our ready room where you can store your personal belongings in your racks, and then we’ll begin prep for the first round of hops later this morning. This way.”

 

Louis turned on his heel and all the recruits were quick to follow with their baggage in tow. Harry took one more look back at the water and then hurried after Niall. As he navigated the long hallways of the carrier behind his fellow recruits, he was reminded again why he loved life at sea so much. The craft was always alive…twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, and every single day of the year. It boasted a staggering seven thousand strong crew, and each and every member had a vital role in keeping the vessel functioning. It was a floating airport and armory all wrapped up into one hulking piece of metal cruising the sea at the heart of all Naval operation. But more than that, it was a home, as unconventional as it may be, and when Harry was aboard, he didn’t ever feel alone. Just like at the Horan house, there was always a friendly face around.

 

“Here we are, gentleman,” Louis said, pushing through a door that led to a narrow hallway with pods of bunks. Instantly, the racks were being claimed like a preschool war of dibs. Harry didn’t bother engaging, because of course Niall could be found right in the middle of the battle, shouting the loudest over everyone. With very little resistance, Niall secured them the pod closest to the small galley, and announced that the other pair in their pod would be Zayn and Liam. Big surprise. 

 

Harry pushed through the throng of still squabbling recruits and shoved into their new home for the next few weeks. It wasn’t the cottage back on base with its wide back porch and surprisingly spacious living quarters, but Harry had never needed all of that. He liked things cozy, and this was about as cozy as one could get. He would basically be sleeping on top of his fellow recruits for the next two weeks and living in their back pockets. It was even more stuffy than a uni dorm, but in much the same way, proximity had a funny way of fostering friendship. Harry knew that by the time these two weeks on the carrier were over, these boys would really be his family. 

 

“You all have 30 minutes to get settled before you are to report to the ready room,” Louis called down the hallway, voice booming and authoritative over the chatter of the group.

 

Niall didn’t waste a second before launching himself into one of the top bunks in the pod, violently ripping out everything from his rucksack and scattering it everywhere. Harry sighed, knowing he would have to clean up the wreckage in the wake of Tropical Storm Niall. Already, Liam was watching the entire scene with a look of mild distress. Harry gave their mate a reassuring pat on the back and then resigned to his fate in the bottom bunk beneath Niall. He wouldn’t force anyone else to endure being downwind of Niall and his chorus of nocturnal farts and snores.

 

Ten minutes later, Harry had finished stowing his personal items in the lockers next to their racks and was laying in his bunk playing with his dog tags. Niall’s clothes were still strewn everywhere, and all he’d managed to accomplish was decorating his bunk with an Irish flag, a Derby schedule, the weekly menu for the mess hall, and a rather sizable poster of Michael Bublé.

 

Harry decided that he’d had enough of hearing Niall emphatically telling Liam and Zayn that Bublé was the second coming of Sinatra and excused himself to the ready room. He exited the hallway from the sleeping pods and ran directly into Louis, who was waiting just outside the door.

 

“Oops,” Harry yelped, face instantly brightening into a cheeky smile when he noted the identity of the latest victim to his clumsiness. Louis rolled his eyes fondly.

 

“Hi, Bambi,” he finally said, hands drawing back from where they had been thrown out to steady Harry’s teetering frame. “Still getting your sea legs working, I see.”

 

Harry couldn’t help the hot blush that crept over his face. “Still hung up on my legs, I see,” he retorted.

 

Louis looked down at Harry’s lanky limbs, then back up at his face. His bright blue eyes were a shade darker under the harsh florescent light bathing the hallways in the underbelly of the carrier. They also looked hesitant, which Harry didn’t like. At all.

 

“Mm. Listen, about Saturday…” Louis paused and looked down at his feet.

 

Harry’s heart immediately began to pound just a little bit harder in an equal share of excitement and dread. This was the first time they’d been alone since Louis had dropped him off at his cottage after their kind-of-not-really-sorta-maybe date. They had sat across from one another on the helicopter ride out to the carrier this morning, but they couldn’t very well have a private conversation with an entire squadron of prying ears around them, other instructors and the captain included. They hadn’t even really made eye contact.

 

Instead of making moon eyes at Louis, Harry had spent the entire helicopter ride psyching himself up for this moment. He wasn’t quite sure where this was all headed, but he really hoped that he and Louis were on the same page about it. Harry would be quite content if Louis dropped down to a knee and proposed, but he’d settle for a _proper_ date as a close second, one that was mutually agreed upon and defined in advance. Of course, it might be a little difficult on a carrier floating in the middle of the sea, but Harry wasn’t afraid of the unconventional. They could make it work. All that was left to do now was figure out where on the scale of stranger-to-soulmate Louis was currently idling.

 

“Yes. Saturday was a lovely day, wasn’t it? Fine weather. Spectacular sunset. A bit breezy, but a good day for a little perspective, regardless. Don’t you agree?” Harry pressed.

 

Louis looked back up at Harry with a stiff set to his shoulders and steel in his eyes. It softened just a little bit when he saw just how earnest Harry looked, waiting in suspension for Louis’ words. Louis sighed and ran a hand through his standard work quiff, “Yes. The sunset was very nice…among other things. But as I said on Saturday, we really do need to keep this quiet. For both our sakes.”

 

Harry nodded, unable to articulate words. He hadn’t even told Niall, although Niall was probably able to guess the general outcome of the evening based on the stupid smile that was uncontrollably plastered on Harry’s face for the rest of Saturday night and all of Sunday. He was _still_ smiling, if he was honest, although the worry about what Louis really meant by keeping things quiet was causing that smile to slip a bit. Was it a past tense kind of gag order or the ongoing type?

 

“I’m not saying…” Louis paused again and looked both directions down the hallway to ensure they were alone. He dropped his voice anyway. “…I’m not saying this can’t continue. I’m just saying we’ll have to be more… _subtle_.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure that subtle was in his vocabulary when it came to his affections, but he would damn well try if it was what Louis wanted.

 

“Just to be clear, when you say ‘ _this_ ’…?” Harry asked for clarification.

 

Louis’ posture sagged a little and the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. “You are direct, aren’t you?” he murmured.

 

Harry shrugged. “What can I say? When I see something, I go right after it. Pilot instincts. Hard to suppress.”

 

“Yes, well it’s also hard to suppress proper protocol. I don’t date students. I can’t.”

 

_Well fuck…_

 

Harry panicked for a moment, floundering in the enormity of his disappointment. Just as he was about to protest - his methods probably being to snog the hell out of Louis to convince him to fuck protocol - a few crew members marched down the hallway, invading their moment. Louis stepped back from Harry, allowing the ensigns to pass between them. The brief separation gave Harry time to clear his thoughts, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Louis, and Louis was watching him just as carefully.

 

Once they were alone again, Harry stepped right back into Louis’ space - closer this time - crowding him against the wall. Louis let him, but didn’t move to touch Harry.

 

“If the queen and country trusts me, maybe you could,” Harry finally told him, head bent down to accommodate Louis’ shorter frame. “And as you _also_ said on Saturday, professional distance…isn’t really our thing.”

 

Louis watched him for another uncomfortably long moment before finally reaching a hand out. Harry’s veins surged with anticipation for the upcoming touch, but it didn’t happen. Instead, Louis simply slipped a folded scrap of paper into the breast pocket of Harry’s work uniform.

 

Then a smirk was back in place on Louis’ face. Harry was so thankful for the welcome curve to Louis’ lips that he nearly sighed. “I’ll see you up there this afternoon, Pigeon. Last time I checked, I had you on my queue of victims.”

 

Louis moved to slip by, but Harry didn’t let him, just boxed him in with his arms on either side of Louis’ shoulders. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he stated boldly. “About _this_ …”

 

Louis pursed his lips in thought for a moment, then said, “No. I didn’t. Don’t be late.” He poked at Harry’s chest, right over his pocket.

 

Without giving away anything else, Louis finally broke the cage of Harry’s arms and pushed his way into the ready room. The door slammed behind him, leaving Harry alone in the hallway.

  
Harry groaned and turned so his back was flat against the wall. He banged his head back with enough force to hurt, but not enough to knock him unconscious…although the thought was tempting. His head was spinning so badly he wondered if he really _was_ starting to get sea sick.

 

“I’m glad we got that straight,” Harry muttered to himself. But all hope was not lost.

 

Before he could wallow in his self pity, his hand flew up to his breast pocket and dug inside. He retrieved the note that had been left there and carefully unfolded it.

 

On it were a few words, written in messy, hasty scribbles.

 

_Hangar bay. Tonight. 2400. Sharp._

 

Harry was nothing if not punctual when it came to Louis.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Captain Cowell hadn’t exaggerated when he said that moving to the carrier would up the stakes in this battle for the 1D trophy. Something about being in this already tense environment on the HMS Elizabeth instantly made everyone that much more desperate for those all too precious points now that things at 1D were closer to the end than the beginning. The tension in the air was so thick Harry would need a fucking hatchet to slice his way through. Fortunately Harry had enough experience under his belt to know how to respond to that pressure. For him, it was all about falling back on routine and instinct to combat the nerves. He liked to spend his time between hops in the ready room “chair flying,” as Niall called it, or mentally maneuvering his plane with his eyes closed and his hands and feet working imaginary pedals. He was sure he looked like a total knob to anyone that passed him, but Harry didn’t really care. It was better than feeding into his anxiety and flying scared.

 

After a solid half hour envisioning chasing Rogue over open waters, Harry felt a disturbance in the seat next to him. He popped one eye open, pulling himself from his mental games. Of course it was Niall interrupting him, haplessly munching on a bag of Cheetos. Where he’d found them on the carrier, Harry had no idea.

 

“Stress eating again?” Harry sighed, closing his eyes again as if trying to sink back into a particularly good dream after being awoken too early. He had been just about to get lock on Rogue.

 

“Psh. Stole these from the other squadron’s ready room. Did you know they have playstation in there? Total bullshit.”

 

Harry sighed. “Did you steal that too?”

 

Niall shook his head sadly. “Couldn’t tuck it down me pants in time. Had to prioritize. Settled for the snacks.”

 

Of course he would.

 

Harry tried to reach into the bag for a Cheeto, but Niall smacked his hand away. “Oi! You know the rules! No eating before a hop. Can’t have a repeat of what happened during basic training in the centrifuge.”

 

Harry turned a little green at the memory and rubbed at his stomach. No, he certainly didn’t fancy blowing chunks all over Georgia Rose’s cockpit. It had been mortifying enough in front of his first flight instructors all those years ago. His poor flight class had complained that the centrifuge still smelled of Harry’s sick weeks later even after numerous cleanings. It was probably the reason why their class had earned the distinction of weakest stomachs because of the increased number of pilots that retched in the centrifuge after Harry’s inaugural upchuck.

 

“Well, if you’re not going to share,” Harry muttered, pretending Niall hadn’t turned him off from eating Cheetos ever again, “We should probably head topside and start flight prep. I want to have a chat with the green shirts about our lady’s speed brakes.”

 

“Sounds good. Gotta make sure she’s in tip top shape,” Niall upended the bag and inhaled the orange dust at the bottom. Unlike Harry, Niall had a stomach of steel. Harry wasn’t the least bit worried that Niall had finished off the entire bag of crisps (and probably numerous other items of edible contraband) before a hop. Niall had been the only person in flight school who _hadn’t_ puked in the centrifuge. In fact, Niall had absolutely _loved_ it, always pleading for another go ‘round, even after the time he had taken it to 11g’s and subsequently passed out cold with his eyeballs practically popping out of their sockets. Something as trivial as G-LOC wasn't about to deter Niall Horan from having his fun. To him, it was like an amusement park ride. If his arms hadn’t been weighted down to his side by the insane gravitational forces, he’d have probably been waving them around and howling like a nutter. Niall was a G monster.

 

By the time they got to the flight deck, things were already hectic, but that was pretty typical. Yellow shirts stared down planes, nose to nose, waving them to the Cats. Green shirts scurried around to check equipment while purple shirts pumped gas into the eager bellies of the jets. Harry and Niall wouldn’t have any actual weaponry fixed to their jet for training missions, but Harry could see the red shirts wheeling massive missiles and bombs that would be strapped to the guts of the other jets on active duty. Sometimes it was a terrifying thought to Harry that someday (very soon) he would be carrying his own load of firepower that would do real damage. It was just a part of the job, Harry knew, but it still caused him to lose a bit of sleep at night if he thought about it too much.

 

Harry spotted Georgia Rose instantly, waiting in a queue to be launched off the carrier. He and Niall weaved their way through the row of other jets until they found her, gleaming in the sun and ready to go. 

 

“I know, darling. This is it. The real deal,” he told her, patting her nose. Niall slapped her wing in greeting and then went off to harass a green shirt about the speed brakes.

 

Flight prep was another of Harry’s pre-flight rituals that helped keep him calm. He made sure to take time to check in with the maintenance crew and the fuel crew, doling out handshakes and high fives to let them know they were appreciated for their tireless care of Harry's girl. He’d always felt that winning over the crew was one of the most important jobs of a pilot. A lot of pilots he’d met were arrogant, thinking they were gods among men on the carrier, but not Harry. He wanted to be a part of the masses. He might get all the glory when things went right, but he knew that really he was just another cog in the working wheel of life in the Navy. The scary part was that there were so many opportunities for things to fuck up out here on the carrier. There were so many chances for Harry’s life to go up in smoke…quite literally…and most of those chances weren’t even in Harry’s immediate control. To be a Naval aviator was to trust the crew around you implicitly, because when it came down to it, your life was more in their hands than your own. He was at the mercy of his crew…and of course at the mercy of the Cat. Harry always figured it was probably best to make sure that the people who looked out for him actually _wanted_ him to return back to solid ground safely.

 

Harry watched as jets screamed down the runway all around him in a well orchestrated dance of wings and wind. It only made Harry that much more anxious to get his hands on Georgia Rose’s throttle.

 

“We’re all set, Sparrow,” Niall called out to him over the near defining sound of engines howling around them. He gave Niall a thumbs up and was about to confer with their crew chief to find out when they could expect to be launched when Niall stopped him with a sharp poke to the ribs.

 

“I feel the need…” Niall began, hand hovering in the air for a high-five. He was practically vibrating with excitement, smile a mile wide and blonde hair bright in the sunlight.

 

Harry resolutely ignored him and turned back to the plane. He would not feed into this bad behavior any longer no matter how heart wrenching Niall’s pout got. Harry had to resist. It was for Niall’s own good (and Harry’s own sanity).

 

Another poke. “ _I feel the need_ ….” Niall tried again at twice the volume, not to be deterred.

 

“No,” Harry finally told him. “I will no longer support the extraneous use of film quotes to express your enthusiasm. Show a little creativity of your own, mate.”

 

“ _I FEEL THE_ ** _NEED_** …” Niall all but shrieked, red faced and angry only inches from Harry’s nose. Niall’s hand was still held up in the air, threatening a slap across the face now instead of a high five. It was a long glaring match between them until another voice broke the silence.

 

“…the need for speed,” Louis finished in a sing-song voice, the picture of casual with a cigarette dangling from his lips and his aviators set on the bridge of his nose. He gave Niall’s hand a smack as he passed. Niall just stared back at Louis with a slack jaw and his hand still hovering in the air. “What? You think you lads are the only ones that can enjoy a good borderline homoerotic 80’s flick starring the adonis that is Tom Cruise?” 

 

Harry blinked and Louis winked at him.

 

Louis flicked his cigarette off the deck into the water and headed for his plane. “See you up there, Pigeon,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m looking forward to chasing your tail feathers.”

 

Niall and Harry watched him go for a solid minute before Niall finally said, “I fucking love your boyfriend.”

 

Harry smacked Niall across the back of the head, but couldn’t disagree. Although the boyfriend title was very much still under debate. 

 

“You only love him because he shares your affection for Tom Cruise,” Harry sulked.

 

“False,” Niall rebutted, “I love him because he shares my affection for you. Now get in the fuckin’ plane. I want a good ride today. You can worry about givin’ Tommo a good ride later.” 

 

They climbed up into the cockpit, Niall following right after Harry, giving his bum a cheeky swat in the process.

 

“Let’s go make an honest man outta your Rogue, huh? Show him what your lovely little tail feathers can do,” Niall teased once they were settled in their seats and strapping in. 

 

Harry muttered obscenities under his breath, but Niall happily carried on as he checked over his equipment, “Harry and Tommo sitting in an F-23, F-U-C-K-I-N-G. First comes blowies, next comes marriage, then comes Harry with a bunch of winged babies flyin’ out of the baby carriage. Just lettin’ you know I call dibs on godfather and I want at least one of the little monsters named after me. Preferably your first born, and middle name won’t do.”

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that classic playground song goes.”

 

“And I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t mind one bit if that’s how things turned out for ya.”

 

Harry groaned in defeat, pulling his helmet on over his mess of curls and strapping his face mask on. There could be no more talk of Louis now that everything they said would be broadcast back to the carrier via radio. Hopefully Niall would be smart enough to keep his mouth shut or Harry would gladly shut it for him…by breaking his bloody jaw.

 

Harry could immediately hear the chatter of the radio transmitting through his helmet. He nodded once to a crew member who helped him close Georgia Rose’s canopy, sealing them inside. He checked over his controls and listened attentively to Niall reading out the specifics from his instruments that Harry needed to know prior to take off. When he was sure they were ready to go, he called over the radio, “Sparrow to flight control. We’re locked and loaded here. Ready for launch at your command.”

 

“Roger that, Sparrow,” said the buzzing voice of the Air Boss. “Proceed to Cat 3.”

 

Harry waited until crew members pulled the chocks, and then he looked out the front of his windscreen at the yellow shirt in front of him with his torches waving Harry forward. He put his hand on the throttle and Georgia Rose shuddered to life below him. 

 

Slowly with the guidance of the yellow shirt, they made their way to the Cat. Just as Harry made his final turn toward their destination, he saw a familiar A-4 rip down the runway and blaze off into the sky flawlessly, leaving a trail of steam in its wake.

 

“He’s yours today, Sparrow,” Niall said, bolstering him for the hop. “He’s yours.”

 

 _He’s mine_ , Harry thought. And hopefully not just on radar.

 

Once the Cat was clear, Georgia Rose was hooked up and the blast deflector was raised. Then it was just a waiting game. Harry sat in silence as he counted his heartbeats, hand on the throttle, aching to slam it forward.

 

“Tension. Good stroke, good hook,” said the shooter over the radio.

 

The go-ahead came through from the Air Boss in flight control, and the yellow shirt ran off the run way and out of Georgia Rose’s path. Harry gave him a salute to signal that he was ready. As soon as it was given, Harry pushed the throttle down. The whine of the engine got louder and louder, even through his thick helmet. Then he could feel the pressure from the steam building up in the Cat. The vibration from all that power made Harry’s vision shake, but he kept his hand steady on the throttle, the other bracing himself against the frame of the canopy.

 

“Hit, steady, fire!” called the shooter.

 

It was a moment of pure stillness, and then it was like a bomb detonating.

 

Georgia Rose shook violently as the Cat sped her down the runway. The sound was deafening, a solid wall of noise at ear splitting decibels. Harry could feel the skin of his face pushed back from the force of the acceleration. Zero to One-Sixty. All in under three seconds.

 

Harry couldn’t even notice the rapidly shortening runway because it all happened so fast. First it was 300 feet of flight deck in front of him, then it was just water as he was rocketed off the back of the carrier.

 

“Sparrow’s airborne,” Harry was barely able to manage, hand instantly reaching down for the yoke.

  
“Wheels in the well!” Niall called back. “Let’s do this shit, baby!”

 

Harry breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the sound dropped back down to the dull hum of flight to which he had grown so accustomed. Georgia Rose purred as he eased her around in a wide arc to pass over the carrier.

 

“Lizzie sure looks pretty from up here, huh?” Niall commented, looking down at the carrier that was getting smaller and smaller as they ascended. After so many weeks of flying over the greenery of the Scottish highlands, it was strange now to be flying over the glittering blue of the water instead. Strange, but settling. It felt more real now.

 

“You see anything on radar yet?” Harry asked, eyes scanning the sky. “We know he’s out there.” So far it looked like they were alone, but Harry knew they wouldn’t be for long. His vulture was just circling. Waiting.

 

“Negative. Let’s get to the front lines of the strike group and look for surface threats. We’ll worry about bogeys when they come.”

 

“Roger.”

 

Harry steered Georgia Rose toward where the guided missile destroyers were cruising the waters, waiting to defend Lizzie if needed. He spotted them down below, tiny like toy ships in a bath. He circled around and waited, eyes scanning around him, seeing nothing but big, puffy clouds.

 

“Where are you?” Harry whispered, biting his lip. “Come on.”

 

It was ten minutes of quiet until Niall squawked behind him. “I’ve got something! Incoming fast from the south-east. Single bogey.”

 

Harry pushed the throttle down and moved to engage head on.

 

“Do you have a visual yet?” Harry asked.

 

“No. Glare’s too bright. Can’t see shit. But he’s close.”

 

Harry looked up into the blinding sun and smirked. “I know where you’re hiding,” he murmured. He pulled Georgia Rose higher into the sky and turned her belly up to block out the glare. Then he saw it. A dark speck headed straight for him. Fast.

 

“Well, well, well. Looks like someone finally caught onto my games. Hi there, Pigeon,” Rogue called. “In case we didn’t cover it in class, I should probably inform you that the sky…that big blue thing with white puffy clouds like candy floss…that’s _up_. Normally your head should be in that direction, not your arse.”

 

Harry turned Georgia Rose back over and pushed the throttle down. He and Rogue were headed right for one another.

 

“Playing chicken, are we?” Rogue clucked.

 

“You know how I love my feathered friends,” Harry gritted out, hand not moving from the yoke. He wouldn’t pull away first. No way in hell. 

 

“Sparrow, bank left!” Niall screeched. “Too close!”

 

“No,” Harry growled. He squinted his eyes and the sweat dripped down his forehead. “Not yet. Wait for it.” He kept the throttle down until he could see right into the cockpit of Rogue’s plane. 

 

Rogue suddenly pulled up just as he was about to slam his nose right into Georgia Rose. He buzzed right over the top of them, close enough for Harry to feel his plane shudder in the wake of Rogue’s jet wash. Harry held steady for a moment and then immediately turned around to gain attack position. Unfortunately Rogue was too fast and got on Harry’s tail before he could finish the maneuver.

 

“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that. But those massive gorilla bollocks slow you down,” Rogue said through the radio.

 

“He’s on our six!” Niall called out. “Gaining fast.”

 

Harry clenched his jaw, mind spinning with ways to get out of this one. He would not take another loss to Rogue. Not a fucking chance. It wasn’t even about points. It was about pride.

 

Harry might not be able to crack Louis yet, but he could damn well get the upper hand on Rogue.

 

“Craic, do you remember that move you said was too aggressive?” Harry asked.

 

“Yeah?” Niall said hesitantly.

 

Harry waited.

 

Niall finally sighed. “Alright. Might as well.”

 

“Might as well,” Harry repeated. He slammed the throttle back suddenly, and Georgia Rose’s nose pulled up like she’d been yanked by a choke collar. She hissed in protest, but just as Harry anticipated on the paper schematics he had drawn up two weeks ago, Rogue blew right by him putting Harry in the offensive position now. With Rogue in his sights, Harry pushed the throttle forward again in hot pursuit.

 

“Hm. Brakes well for her size,” Rogue hummed through the radio. “But how does she corner?”

 

Rogue turned on a dime, pulling a hard right. Harry was quick to follow. Nothing was going to stop him this time. He was going to get Rogue. He was going to get Louis.

 

“Too close for missiles. Switching to guns,” Harry called.

 

The steady beep of the radar permeated their cockpit as Rogue danced all around Harry's lock. Harry held steady, breath caught in his chest, and then something happened.

 

_Beeeeeeeppppppp_

 

“Tone!” Harry yelped, a mix of shock and elation. Disbelief.

 

“Fuckin’ ace! Goodnight motherfucker!” Niall hollered, letting out a loud whoop behind Harry and pounding on his seat back.

 

“Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!” Harry cheered with a primal shout, watching Rogue dead center in his radar field. His eyes lifted to the actual plane in front of him in absolute awe. Harry tore off his mask and gasped out a breath, which turned into a giggle and then hysterical laughter.

 

Rogue just chuckled over the radio while Harry and Niall continued to celebrate as if this was the first time they had ever taken down a target. Finally Rogue slowed his jet to allow Harry to coast at his wing. Harry looked over until he could see Rogue’s helmeted head over the wing of his plane.

 

“Not bad, my little Sparrowhawk. Not bad.”

 

Harry smiled so widely he worried the cockpit wouldn’t be able to contain it. He saluted Louis, still wearing a grin. Louis flipped him off with his own grin on his face before racing off again toward the carrier.

 

Harry followed him a few moments later after reveling in the sheer relief that he had actually done something right. And even better…he had done it his own way. No text book maneuvers or stuffy protocol. Harry had flown on instinct. He had taken a risk, but he hadn’t been rash. Maybe that was what Louis had been talking about when he told Harry not to lose his edge. It wasn’t about _being_ edgy, it was about _flying_ on the edge. Right along the line of ice and fire.

 

Harry laughed to himself as if he had just discovered the key to life itself. He felt so free right now. So full of hope and possibility. For the first time, Harry felt like he really belonged here, that maybe it wasn’t just his last name carving his path anymore. 

 

With Niall still howling behind him, Harry barrel rolled himself until he was so dizzy he couldn’t feel the smile on his face anymore. He broke the sound barrier on his way back to the carrier, the sonic boom drowning out the chuckles from his bested opponent still transmitting over the radio.

 

He couldn't wait to hear that laugh in person back on deck.

 

Now there was just one thing left to do before the real celebration could begin. Harry still had to put Georgia Rose back on the carrier.

 

This was what set Naval pilots apart from flyers in any of the other branches of the military. People always joked that to be a fighter pilot in the Navy, you had to have a few screws loose in your head, because if slingshotting yourself off a 300 foot runway on a ship bobbing and swaying in the middle of the fucking ocean wasn’t insane enough, try landing on one. It was a little bit like knocking on death’s door everyday and praying that today wouldn't be the day it answered. Every landing was a reminder of one’s own mortality. It was the single highest cause of death in Navy pilots, even above ejection or getting shot down in a dogfight. 

 

Harry angled Georgia Rose down toward the carrier, the LSO’s voice directing him to the first runway. He sank her steadily, hand firm on the yoke to keep her stable while he gently eased back on the throttle.

 

“Craic, you spotting the OLS?” Harry asked Niall.

 

“Yep. We’re looking good, Sparrow. Meatball’s in line. Speaking of...did I mention to you that it’s Italian night in the mess hall this fine eve? Spaghetti and meatballs. I plan to stuff meself so full that I won’t fit back here come tomorrow,” Niall informed him. "Hope you can reproduce this success without my assistance, because I'll likely be in a food coma. You know how much I like my Italian."

 

Harry chuckled. “Whatever your little heart desires. Binge away, amore mio.”

 

Niall snorted. “You gettin’ some on the regular is going to be a hazard to my fine physique. You’re supposed to be my stop gate, mate. Stop worrying about _cazzos_ and _culos_ and start worrying about _Craic!_ ”

 

“Christ! We’re still on the radio!” he hissed in warning. "Can you please tone it down?"

 

“Keep your knickers on, Bum Bandit. I shut off me radio five minutes ago. Pull up a bit, by the way. Unless you’d like us to splatter against the back of the carrier while you pop wood thinking about your upcoming shag-a-thon tonight. Keep your hand on the yoke, pal. At least for now.”

 

“Oh God,” Harry groaned. He could not let his mind go careening off, or the plane would likely follow a similar trajectory.

 

“You’ll be calling out to him again later tonight, I’m sure. Maybe a few times, if your stamina is all you boast it to be. Oh…oh God! Yes. _Yes!_ Harder! Right there! Right.. _there!_ ” Niall moaned, something straight out of a porno.

 

Thankfully, the LSO’s voice cut off the rest of Niall’s stirring performance of the epic diner scene from _When Harry Met Sally_. “We’re ready down below. Drop your tail hook.”

 

“Roger,” Harry sighed, pushing the button on his dash to drop the hook and lower his landing gear. He couldn't wait to get out of this plane and away from Niall's filthy imagination. The carrier was getting closer and closer as Harry approached the hard deck.

 

“One thirty knots. Good speed,” Niall told him, bored now that it was all business again, even giving a massive yawn. Niall was usually useless when it came to landings. Harry’s blood was always pumping more for the landing than the actual dogfight, but Niall might as well be taking a nap back there. Harry felt the sweat start to pool at his hairline and blinked his eyes to keep it from crossing his brow.

 

Harry watched with bated breath as the carrier got closer and closer and closer until…

 

_BANG! SCREEEEECH!_

 

Georgia Rose smashed down in a heap, with Harry pushing her throttle forward in case he didn’t hook up and needed to make another pass. In all actuality, no matter how experienced the pilot, landing was little better than a semi-controlled crash. The only thing saving them from speeding right off the carrier’s horrifically short runway being a set of steel arresting wires…and that was only if they caught one of them.

  
“Hook!” Niall called unnecessarily. "Pop the boards...not your wood!"

 

There would be no mistaking the fact they’d succeeded in making the hook considering Harry’s head slammed forward and back so harshly he worried the back of his helmet would crack on impact. It was a wonder, really, that more pilots didn’t sustain whiplash injuries.

  
Georgia Rose's speed brakes all flew up from her wings to help slow her momentum as she screeched down the runway, burning the rubber of her wheels.

 

Harry let out his breath in a heavy sigh as the plane came to an abrupt stand still just three seconds after the wheels had first touched the deck. He made a quick sign of the cross to thank every deity out there for allowing him another safe landing…for allowing him the chance to live and fly another day.

 

It was only a short taxi to park Georgia Rose with her fellow F-14s, and then the canopy was being lifted to free them. The minute they were out of the cockpit and climbing down the ladder, their recruit class was surrounding them with cheers.

 

“Un-fuckin'-believable, mates! You finally got the bastard! What was it like? Did you hear his desolate sobs over the radio? Did he crash his plane into the Drink in shame? How the _hell_ did you pull that off?” Ginger asked, all puppy-like excitement and shaggy orange hair. He hugged Niall first, passing him along to Zayn when he was done, and then turned to Harry. Harry’s breath was knocked out of his chest with the force of Ginger’s embrace.

 

Niall disentangled himself from Zayn’s arms and puffed out his chest. He pulled Ginger off of Harry and took a possessive stance at Harry’s side. “Oh. Did we win? Hm. Didn’t even notice. Was too busy watching _my_ pilot here fly like a fuckin' hero. I’ve only got eyes for one flyer in the Royal Navy, and it’s this guy right here. Could care less about that _other_ wanker.” He grabbed Harry’s face between his grubby (still Cheeto-crusted) hands and pressed a wet, smacking kiss to his cheek. Harry allowed it this time without complaint. Niall had earned himself a little bit of PDA…and Harry might as well enjoy it since he wouldn’t be getting PDA from any _other_ source in the near future.

 

A raucous cheer went off among the rest of the recruits. Niall just smiled proudly and ruffled Harry’s curls. Harry tried not to blush. He failed.

 

“Drinks tonight in the ready room for finally taking down the infamous Rogue,” Niall cackled happily as fellow recruits continued to surround them, all chanting the _Heart of Oak_. Niall ducked closer to Harry, “And fair warning, I might crawl into your bunk with you tonight. That flying made me so hot.”

 

“Frisky,” Harry teased with a giggle. He dropped his voice and whispered in Niall’s ear, “But as it turns out, I already have plans tonight. Sorry, Nialler.”

 

Niall’s eyes went wide and then he smirked salaciously. “Oh. I see. More ‘ _pilot related_ ’ things, eh?”

 

Harry ignored Niall, instead scanning the deck for the only person he really wanted to see in this moment of distilled joy. Harry’s eyes locked on Louis across the deck, crawling out of his own cockpit and tugging off his helmet. His hair was a mess, sweaty and sticking up in all directions with his fringe plastered to his forehead. His flight suit overwhelmed his frame, hiding all his delicious curves under lumpy and bland fabric. His cheeks were blotchy from the heat of the cockpit and the adrenaline of the hop. And Harry was sure he’d never seen someone so god-damned beautiful in all his life. 

 

Louis’ eyes met Harry’s over the heads of all the recruits that were surrounding Harry and Niall, still singing away. His mouth curved up into a small smile, and he gave Harry a single nod. Harry lost his breath again even all this distance away with a literal army of people between them.

 

Harry didn’t even have time to return the smile before Louis mouthed, “ _See you tonight,”_ and then disappeared among the throng of crew members scattered on the flight deck.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

2200\. _Still two hours._

 

2218\. _No use sleeping now. Best to just lay here and panic into oblivion._

 

2240\. _God, why is time so fucking slow?_

 

2300\. _Seriously considering suffocating Niall if he farts in his sleep one more time._

 

2310\. _Okay, the clock_ seriously _must have a glitch._

 

2345\. _Must not get an erection. Must not get an erection. MUST NOT GET AN ERECTION._

 

2346\. _Too late._

 

2347. _No time to wank. Fuck time. Why is it so fucking fast?_

 

At ten minutes to midnight, Harry tip toed his way across the pod in his bare feet with his trainers in his hand. Dressed in only a tank and a pair of Navy sweats that were hitched up his calves, Harry opened his eyes wide to see in the pitch black darkness. With his arm extended in front of him, he crept slowly across the room until he managed to feel out the door handle. He grabbed it like a life raft and heaved a sigh of relief. On a rare stroke of luck, Harry had actually managed to navigate the confines of the pod without tripping over something, despite the fact that the floor was still a minefield, thanks to Niall. That could have been a catastrophe for his already clumsy limbs…not to mention his still painfully stiff cock. He was praying that by the time he made his way to the hangar, this little problem would be resolved. He didn’t think it would be a good first impression to show up for this second kind-of-not-really-sorta-maybe date with a raging boner under his joggers. Didn’t really send the right message about wanting to fly off into the sunset together for the rest of happily ever after.

 

Harry paused for a moment at the door and waited, eyes looking back over his shoulder into the darkness. The only sound in the entire world seemed to be the soft, synchronous breathing of Zayn and Liam and the apneic snores from Niall’s bunk. He was in the clear. Time to escape.

 

The moment Harry clicked the door handle down, Niall’s snores abruptly stopped.

 

“Don’t be silly…wrap the…willy,” Niall wheezed, still half asleep. Then his regularly scheduled snores returned at twice the volume, but not before something small and plastic hit Harry in the side of the head. Harry bent down to the ground, hand feeling across the floor until he passed over the unidentified flying object. He picked it up and ran his fingers over it. The small foil wrapped ring of latex was quickly pocketed with a fierce blush that was mercifully hidden by the dark. Harry couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

 

By the time Harry made his way through the circuitous hallways of the carrier’s underbelly to the hangar bay, thankfully both the blush and Harry’s below-the-belt bother were back to baseline. He hadn’t run into many people in the hallways, but that probably had to do with the fact that flight ops had been suspended early in the evening due to inclement weather. The storm that had rolled in just after the sun set had driven all personnel below deck and away from the deluge of rain and lightning. The carrier’s air wing had all taken the opportunity to catch up on some much needed rest, leaving the hangar bay all but abandoned. 

 

The bay may be devoid of all crew, but that didn’t mean that it was empty. Rows upon rows of planes were stuffed into the wide, cavernous hangar, safely stowed from the storm raging topside. It was a little strange to be in the hangar when it was quiet like this. Normally there was so much life here, constant frenzy as planes were being loaded back and forth between the decks with green shirts scurrying around and tending to the jets. Right now it was still, the faint rumble of rain and thunder and the soft hum from the reactors levels below the only sounds Harry could hear.

 

With a look down at his watch to ensure he was on time - two minutes early, actually - Harry weaved his way through the planes. He still didn’t see anyone around, but he did see one familiar face…or nose, really. He wandered over towards Georgia Rose where she was peacefully slumbering next to all the other F-14s, wings folded up like a bat.

 

“Hello, my darling. You did well today. Thanks for keeping us safe up there.” He pressed a kiss to his fingers and brushed them against her nose just above one of her many nicks and bumps. Even marred as she was, she was still a beauty in Harry’s eyes. The scars just proved how much she suffered to protect him.

 

Harry lost track of time for a few minutes while he stood in calm silence with Georgia Rose, hand running absentmindedly over her battered steel frame. The air was stuffy and balmy because of the rain, and Harry’s skin was already dewey and flushed. He knew that in no time at all his poor curls would became a horrific mess in this humidity, but hopefully the bandana he’d tied around them would at least keep them somewhat presentable.

 

Harry was just beginning to wonder if Louis was going to stand him up when he felt cool fingers stroke his bare arm. He jumped in shock, goosebumps instantly raising on his skin despite the warmth in the air. He turned toward the source of the touch, throwing a hand out against Georgia Rose’s belly to collect himself.

 

“Steady on. Figured I’d find you here.”

 

Harry smiled, but unfortunately his kickstarted heart was yet to slow. More because Louis still hadn’t removed his hand from Harry’s arm. “Just giving credit where it’s due,” Harry murmured, stroking Georgia Rose’s nose again before resting his hand against his own racing heart. “My girl did well today.” 

 

Louis smiled fondly at Harry and then at the jet. He dropped his hand from Harry’s arm to give Georgia Rose a friendly pat. “Ah. Yes. I daresay she’s not the only one.”

 

Harry’s grin grew just a little bit, preening at Louis’ words. He faked disbelief to hide it. “Pardon, I must have heard that wrong. Was that an actual compliment from the almighty Rogue? I must have G-LOC’ed on the hop this afternoon. This must be a fever dream or some type of twilight state hallucination. Quick, pinch me.”

 

Louis was definitely on board with that, because those clever little fingers instantly sunk into the meat of Harry’s bicep and squeezed. Hard.

 

“Ouch! Damn-it. I wasn’t being serious!” Harry yelped, yanking his arm back from Louis’ reach and rubbing over his reddened flesh. 

 

Louis stared down at his handiwork with a smirk. “Then for future reference, don’t tempt me to leave marks on you unless you’re sure you want them there.”

 

Harry shuddered and those damn goose bumps made a repeat appearance. His bottom lip turned out as he rubbed a hand over his tingling bicep. He kind of wanted to poke it, see if it still stung.

 

They watched each other for another moment until Louis finally rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. Don’t pout. Just keeping you in check. Don’t want to blow up that ego of yours anymore than it already is. I’m sure it’s at an all time high after you were practically carried off the flight deck today like the bloody Queen of England.” 

 

Harry wasn’t about to correct Louis to inform him that it had actually been _Niall_ that was carried off the flight deck by his loyal subjects. They’d tried with Harry, but his gangly, flailing legs had nearly taken Zayn’s head off, so they dropped him on his arse and made him walk himself back to the ready room. Wankers.

 

Harry still covered his sore skin from any further attack, but he did stop pouting.

 

“Better. Now, come on. If you can manage to peel yourself away from your bird, I want to introduce you to someone,” Louis added, hand dropping to Harry’s lower back to lead him away from Georgia Rose.

 

Harry wiggled his fingers over his shoulder at her in parting and followed Louis through the hangar until they were at the very end near the stern where the planes were more sparsely packed. Harry smiled surreptitiously when he saw another familiar pair of wings.

 

Louis led them to the A-4 tucked by itself in the corner and then cleared his throat. “Harold, I would like you to officially meet…Diana.” 

 

Harry took a step forward out of Louis’ grip, whistling long and low. He stood nose to nose with the plane and bowed his head in deference. “It’s a pleasure, love. Been chasing after you for quite some time, haven’t I? Nice to see you standing still for a moment. Usually you’re nothing but a blur.” He reached out and tapped her cool, metal surface delicately in lieu of a proper handshake.

 

He turned to Louis wearing a crooked smile. Louis was watching the entire display with fond amusement. “She certainly is a stunner,” Harry said. “Hard to not be taken.”

 

“Yes, she is a pretty little thing, isn’t she? I’m rather smitten, I’ll admit.”

 

“I’m partial to a larger woman myself, but she’ll do,” Harry said with a teasing shrug.

 

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So that’s your type? Good to know.”

 

Harry was quick to clarify. “That only goes for planes. My taste in humans is a little different.”

 

“Really? Do tell.”

 

Harry swallowed his Adam’s apple and blinked at Louis. “Um. Well…I still like them curvy, I guess, but there’s something to be said for compact packages.” Louis instantly started laughing. Harry’s eyes widened. “Shit…not _packages_ …per se. I just meant small in frame…stature… _height_. Jesus. Not…um…endowment.”

 

Louis chuckled watching Harry self-destruct. “Oh God. I’ll die of old age before you get your point across with all this rambling. Do mind me status as a senior citizen, hm? Just come out and say it. You like big dicks. No shame in that.”

 

Harry spluttered. “I like dicks of all sizes!” he cried in outrage. He wasn’t one to judge on something so superficial! It was imperative that Louis know Harry valued substance over size of cock.

 

Louis laughed even more. He bent over and clutched at his stomach, eyes squeezed shut and mouth agape. When he finally got control of himself again he managed, “You do say some shit, did you know?”

 

Harry frowned, lips pouting again.

 

Louis straightened up and his eyes softened when he took in Harry’s glum face. “Hey. None of that. I’m sure the small knobbed men of the world would be quite pleased you’re so emphatic in their defense, but mercifully, I am not among their ranks.”

 

Harry’s voice came out in a squeak before he cleared his throat and tried again, “Good to know.” He still figured it was necessary to do his own _personal_ inspection regarding the validity of Louis’ claims at some point, just to be sure they were accurate.

 

Harry quickly turned to the plane, desperate to get things back on track. Harry had gleaned some very valuable details about Louis thus far, but this conversation was still dangerously close to being classified as full on train wreck status. He needed a topic change… _now_.

 

His eyes scanned Diana’s shell until they landed on something out of place right below her wing. He took a step closer to study it.

 

“Um. What’s…all this?” he asked, touching a list of paired letters carefully painted along Diana’s belly. They looked like…initials?

 

Louis was quick to follow Harry’s gaze. His cheeks were still flushed from laughing, but his face was less expressive now. “Um,” he began hesitantly. His hand itched at the back of his neck as he stared at the letters over which Harry was still stroking his fingers. “It’s just something I’ve done since I started flying. Helps me remember who I’m keeping safe down on the ground…who I fly for. List just keeps getting longer.”

 

Yes, the list was quite extensive. Each letter was barely the size of Harry’s finger, done in what Harry knew to be Louis’ own handwriting based on the sample Harry had in the form of the note tucked beneath the pillow back in his bunk. There were about ten names in total, some more faded than others, obviously having been there longer.

 

Louis reached his own hand out and ran it over the initials as well. His hand briefly touched Harry’s passing over the last name in the list, and was abruptly pulled away. Louis didn’t meet Harry’s eyes, still focused on the names.

 

“So this is why you fly?” Harry asked. “Them?”

 

Louis shrugged. “Not really. I fly because it’s who I am and what I love. Just nice not to feel alone up there all the time. Nice to have that reminder.”

 

 _You’re not alone…never alone_ , Harry wanted to say, but that was a bit presumptuous. In all honesty, Harry didn’t really know anything about Louis, aside from his evident love of sarcasm, sass and being an ass. Maybe he _was_ alone. Harry certainly felt the effects of what the Navy had done to all other personal connections in his life. Sophia had certainly hinted at a similar course for Louis' life, although she hadn't been very specific with the details.

 

“So who are they?” Harry asked.

  
“Hm?” Louis seemed to be far away at the moment, still staring at the initials. Harry wanted him back.

 

He tapped the initials again, nudging Louis with his shoulder.

 

“Oh. My family. Mostly. Friends. Mentors. You know…just…the people who’ve had a hand in making me who I am today. I’ve spent enough time getting pieces of them inked on my skin,” Louis gestured down to the bevy of seemingly random tattoos on his arms. “I figured they should have a little representation on Diana too.”

 

Harry smiled at that. “Her own set of tats.”

 

Louis smiled too. “Something like that.”

 

Harry wanted to ask about the names, about who each set of letters represented in Louis’ life, but Louis was quick to switch conversation to other topics. He certainly had a knack for turning on a dime.

 

“So tell me, hot shot, how does it feel to be leading the ranks for the 1D trophy?” Louis asked. “If my calculations are correct, you taking me down today gave you the top spot.”

 

Harry blushed, hot and red. “Good. I guess. I mean, it’s only by a few points and Liam and Zayn can easily turn things around with a few good hops. I’m just happy to be a contender.”

 

“Humble.”

 

“I try.”

 

“So very unlike me when I was a student here.”

 

Now this was a topic that Harry could get behind. He was dying to know more about what Louis had been like in flight school. “Oh yea?” he asked, hoping the open ended prodding would keep Louis talking.

 

“Yep. I was a right little shit. Total terror. I thought I knew everything and didn’t take too kindly to criticism…if you can imagine that,” Louis said with a smirk. “Instructors couldn’t stand me, but they also couldn’t really kick me arse to the curb like I deserved because I kept winning. Had enough talent and bluster to get by and snag the trophy, but I didn’t realize just how little I really knew until I went off on my first mission with real bombs strapped to the plane. Didn’t feel quite so cocky then.”

 

“When did you graduate?” Harry asked casually.

 

“Why? Trying to figure out just how big a cougar I really am?”

 

Harry smiled. “No. Just…my…my Dad. He was an adjunct instructor at 1D when he went on break from active duty. It was probably before you were here, though. It’s been awhile now.”

 

Louis nodded, but his sharp eyes were scanning around the area. “I think…I think I left…hang on a second.”

 

He shuffled off and started digging through a pile of rubbish on a nearby steel bench covered in old, rusty tools.

 

“Ah! Yes. Here it is.” He produced a decrepit old radio from the pile and grinned at Harry. “I think we need a bit of music, don’t you? Too bloody quiet down here. Classics still okay with you? Because I’m pretty sure this ancient, old thing only gets in one station, and it’s sadly not your hipster shit.”

 

“I guess I can stand something of your vintage for an evening if necessary. Pity I left my sheer shirts back in Scotland…I’ve got nothing but my wrinkle free face to combat the aura of antiquity now.”

 

Louis eyed him up and down, crinkling his own barely there crow’s feet. “Yes. Pity your anomalous nipples can’t make an appearance tonight.”

 

“Well…they could.”

 

“Oh, keep your shirt on, Styles. I’m not the kind of bloke to get busy on the first date.”

 

Harry’s smile split his face. _Yessssssssss._ And this was technically the _second_ , so Harry figured that point was moot anyway.

 

 “Date, hm?” Harry asked, desperately trying to keep his voice cool.

 

Harry would like to paint Georgia Rose the color that was currently rising in Louis’ cheeks, just so he could remember the shade.

 

“I guess that answers the question you left me hanging on earlier today,” Harry couldn't help but add.

 

“If you’re _quite_ finished,” Louis muttered, fiddling with the radio that produced only static until it finally settled on its solitary station. 

 

The music was warbled, but Harry could clearly hear the ending to the same Otis Redding song they’d heard on the radio driving to the lighthouse. Harry broke into a bright smile. This couldn't get any better.

 

“Ah. An old friend!” Harry said fondly. "Deja vu."

 

“Ugh. I won't be able to hear this song now without associating it with your nipples."

 

Harry bit his lip to stop the pleased smile. He quite liked the sound of that. Classical conditioning was awesome.

 

Instead of talking more about his nipples - because they were about one cool breeze away from poking through his shirt for attention already - Harry looked to the ladder propped against Diana’s cockpit.

 

“May I?” Harry asked, gesturing to the ladder.

 

“Please,” Louis said magnanimously, bowing with his arm extended toward the cockpit. “She doesn’t bite…unlike me.” Louis winked at him.

 

Harry stumbled to the ladder as quickly as his spindly legs would carry him.

 

It took a little finesse, and quite a bit of shimmying his back side, but Harry managed to wedge himself down into Diana’s pilot seat after a minute or two of struggle. He sat in the small cockpit of the A-4 and ran his hands over the controls reverently, imagining the way that Louis flew her so flawlessly with deft fingers and lighting quick hands. It was so different to Georgia Rose’s interior that Harry could practically navigate blindfolded by now. It was still a plane, though. Still had a throttle and a yoke and a whole host of buttons and dials. Harry still felt a sense of comfort here, even if it wasn’t quite home. 

 

While Harry had been exploring, Louis managed to climb the ladder himself, and was currently standing on Diana’s wing, draped casually over her frame so he could lean against the cockpit.

 

“It’s a tight fit,” Harry stated, adjusting his knees, which were already jammed up against the control board. “Cute, though. Tiny. Small plane, small pilot, I guess.”

 

Louis squawked in protest, eyes bugging out and flashing with heat. “Don’t you dare slander my woman, Styles. I would never call Georgia Rose fat, so don’t go calling my girl _tiny_.”

 

Harry shrugged. “Maybe _you’re_ just oversensitive about height.”

 

“Says the man who likes things _compact_.”

 

Harry stretched his arms up above his head, showing off his long limbs. He grinned with his eyes closed. Louis might fly like ice, but it was so easy to stoke his fire. “I do. Even less reason for you to be so quick to go all Napoleon on me.”

 

Louis huffed, but it was a fond huff. Harry was sure of it. “Just mind your tongue and there won’t be any beheadings.”

 

“Hm. Might need a little help minding it,” Harry said, eyes still closed.

 

“You’re shameless,” Louis replied, tone flat.

 

Harry burst out laughing. He opened his eyes and looked over at Louis. Louis had crept a little closer while Harry’s vision had been obscured. His arms were folded against the edge of the cockpit, and his head was resting comfortably against them. Harry wanted to reach out and fix Louis’ fringe, which was heavy against his forehead in the humid heat of the hangar. 

 

Before he could make his hand move off the yoke, the song ended, transitioning smoothly into the next.

 

Harry knew this song too. Quite well.

 

He looked back down at his hands against the controls and smiled softly.

 

“Another old friend?” Louis asked, seeing Harry’s expression.

 

“You could say that. Not really mine, though.”

 

“Care to share?”

 

Harry bit his lip and weighed the cost of telling this story. It was a happy memory, but the ending was the problem. It took only a single look in Louis’ cerulean eyes to make his decision.

 

“This was my parents’ wedding song. What other song could a pilot and his bride-to-be possibly choose? Old blue eyes knew a thing or two about wooing someone with the promise of airborne adventure.”

 

Frank Sinatra crooned the chorus to _Come Fly with Me,_ while Louis hummed along.

 

Harry could leave it at that. It would be enough by way of explanation. But now that the can of worms was open, he couldn’t stop more from spilling out.

 

“Obviously I don’t remember their wedding considering I was just a twinkle in my father’s eyes at that point, but…I remember the rest. I don’t think I could forget it. Even if I tried. Even if I wanted to… _when_ I want to.”

 

Louis didn’t say anything. He let Harry sift through years of memories and choose the ones he was willing to share.

 

“I never knew a time when my Dad wasn't a Navy man. It was just the way of life. He was always in and out, always headed off somewhere to go do something important. And every time he left, Mum would be sad the night before. She would try to be brave, try to pretend she was fine, but the tears would always be right there on the surface, just waiting to spill. She would usually make it through dinner before the dams would finally break, but sometimes not. Sometimes she would just sit there with me and my Dad at the dinner table and cry silently into her napkin over the pot roast before excusing herself to the laundry room to get herself back under control again.

 

"I never really understood it when I was young, because to me, he was just going off on another fantastic endeavor that he would tell me all about when he got back. I mean he _flew_ for a living, right? Saved the world? Traveled all around the globe? He _must_ be a superhero. My Dad was as cool as Batman. Clearly I didn’t really comprehend the specifics of what being a pilot actually entailed at the time, but I knew enough to understand that Mum didn't share my enthusiasm for Dad’s adventures. 

 

“So when she got down about it the night before another of those ‘adventures,’ my Dad would put this record on our old player and dance her around the living room after they put me to bed. I could hear it from my room, even though they put it on as quietly as they could, so I would drag my favorite airplane blanket from my bed and watch them from the top landing of the stairs, hidden in the shadows. They spun around and around for hours, just holding one another close while I watched from my hideout until I fell asleep, right there against the bars of the railing. And every time, when I woke up the next morning, I’d always be back in my bed with a folded paper airplane on the pillow next to me telling me Dad was gone again. Another tour. Another promise of fanciful superhero stories when he got back."

 

Harry paused and looked over at Louis. “Eventually I stopped getting excited about him leaving. Then those paper airplanes only meant another chance that he might not come back.”

 

“Must have been difficult. With a parent in the military,” Louis finally said, voice quiet. "I grew up in a single parent home meself for most of my life, and there were times when I didn't know how we all survived the day."

 

Harry shrugged. “It was...alright, mostly. He was always patient, always understanding. He never yelled at me when I got in playground scuffles at school or accidentally broke something around the house. He was stern, yes. Always expected me to work hard and never give up. But he was passionate too. About flying. About family. He was the one who first took me flying, then eventually taught me _how_ to fly when I got marginally old enough. He was the one who made me realize how much I love it. He really was a great Dad. When he was home.”

 

“You’re a lot like him.”

 

Harry turned to look at Louis. “What?”

 

“I just mean you turned out to be a pilot. Like him. A damn good pilot. And a pretty good person too, from what I can gather.”

 

Harry nodded. “I try to be. Like him, I mean.”

 

“So he’s why you fly?” Louis asked.

 

Harry shook his head, frowning. “No. I already told you that. I fly for my country.”

 

“Hm,” Louis hummed. “Guess you’re not quite ready yet.”

 

Harry bristled at that. His voice raised and his chest started rising and falling fitfully as the words spilled out without his control, “Listen, I know what it looks like. My profession. My call sign. Hell, it’s what everyone assumes anyway. It’s what I’ve always had to deal with since I first enlisted. It's like a footnote every time I say my last name. ‘ _Oh there goes Hawk’s boy…little Sparrow. A spitting image of his old man_.’ I can’t tell you how many people look at me and only see him.”

 

Louis’ eyes met Harry’s, blazing a bright, fierce blue. Harry couldn’t quite grasp the raw emotion that was bleeding out of those eyes that had been haunting him since he first saw them across the bar.

 

“Then they’re blind,” Louis said quietly.

 

Harry’s lips parted, breath coming out in shallow waves as he stared into Louis’ eyes, fixated there like a tail hook…yanking him back when he tried to look anywhere else.

 

He was able to see the exact moment Louis made the decision to lean closer, chest pressed against the edge of the cockpit and body angled toward Harry’s. Then Harry couldn’t see anymore as his eyes shut of their own volition. He just felt.

 

The first press of soft, warm lips against Harry’s own had his breath hitching in his throat. It was gone as quickly as it had come. Harry waited another few seconds, completely frozen, before Louis' lips returned, more sure this time, more insistent.

 

Louis’ lips moved against his, parting Harry’s wider, and then focused their attention on his bottom lip. Harry’s hands were still rooted to the yoke between his thighs, but Louis’ were grasping him now, one hand against the side of his neck and the other tangling in the damp curls at his nape. The shock between the petal soft brush of Louis' mouth and the sharp scratch of his stubble made Harry shudder under his grasp, turning his body into Louis' for more contact.

 

Harry wasn't sure how long the kiss lasted. He wasn't sure when he had last taken a full breath. He was happy to share whatever oxygen Louis saw fit to give him as they bit and teased one another with teeth and tongues. His head was swimming with the sensation, every nerve ending firing at max capacity, leaving his brain in a cacophonous state of static.

 

Louis' hand trailed from his neck to his chest, tangling in the chain of his dog tags. With nimble fingers, Louis grasped it and lifted, only breaking their kiss long enough to pull the tags over Harry's head. Even that split second of lost contact had Harry falling forward, desperately chasing after Louis' touch again.

 

Louis gently set the dog tags on the dash of his cockpit, mouth working against Harry's sharp jawline, causing Harry to shiver. “Just you,” he murmured against Harry's skin. "Tonight, it's just you."

 

Harry lifted his hands and gently pushed against Louis' shoulders, separating them again. Louis' eyes were dark and lust-blown, lashes long and fluttering against his cheekbones every time he blinked. Harry couldn't believe he had never noticed them before. Then again, he had never been this close before. Now he wasn't quite sure how he was ever going to separate.

 

Louis just watched Harry with those midnight blue eyes, expression unreadable and unsure again. Harry wanted him to be sure. Harry wanted Louis to be as sure as he was himself, because Harry was already alarmed at how quickly he had become a forgone conclusion when it came to Louis.

 

“Come join me," Harry finally said, kissing away the faint frown line between Louis' eyebrows.

 

It instantly vanished, smoothed away by a smile. “I don’t know. You’re already wedged in there. Not sure there’s room in that teeny, tiny, little cockpit for both me and your ego.”

 

Harry huffed out a laugh, the best he could do while still so breathless. “Oh come now, you're the one with a soft spot for ego. And if I recall correctly, the first time we met, you did say that you were capable of fitting into tight spaces, did you not? That it was one of your many talents?”

 

“I’m fairly certain that was you, but I’ll bite," Louis said, nipping at Harry's lips. "Budge up. I’m coming in hot.”

 

 "I'll say."

 

That earned Harry a purposeful knee to the nads as Louis maneuvered himself into the cockpit and right on top of Harry. Before Harry knew it, he had a lapful of Louis, pressed against him another from chest to pelvis with Louis' thighs bracketing his on the pilot seat.

 

"Cozy," Harry breathed, trying not to focus on his aching crotch.

 

"Very. Now I do remember you saying you needed help minding that troublesome tongue of yours. I think I might be able to help with that."

 

"By all means. It seems to be quite fond of you."

 

They snogged fervently until Harry's lips were sore and puffy, a deep shade of red. He was sure his cheeks and chin were no better after rubbing against Louis' smattering of facial hair, but he couldn't really find it in himself to complain. They kept kissing even when Louis started to grind his hips against Harry's, forcing a moan from both of them. Harry reached his hands around and settled them on the base of Louis' spine, right above where his bum started to slope away. Harry was just about to slide his hands down to the promised land when a loud clatter off in the distance abruptly split them apart.

 

"Shit," Louis muttered, head turning to look in the direction of the noise. A few faint voices could be heard at the far end of the hangar. Louis' hand instantly snapped out to turn the radio off, still playing the classics. Harry hadn't even heard them over the rushing of blood in his own ears.

 

"Time to go?" Harry asked.

 

Louis took a few deep breaths to steady himself and nodded. "Yeah. You need your rest for tomorrow, and I need to go take a cold fucking shower." Louis adjusted himself right there on Harry's lap, and Harry was pretty sure he blacked out for a second or two.

 

"You won't be the only one. I think I may need to hit up the showers on the way back to my rack too."

 

Louis chuckled and closed his eyes, leaning his forehead down against Harry's. "Christ, you are going to be the death of me, Styles."

 

"It's only fair considering how many times you've already taken me down on hops."

 

"God. Don't even talk about that. Do you know how sexy that was today? Where did you learn moves like that? They certainly don't teach that shit here at 1D."

 

Harry smirked. "I've got a lot of good moves, Lou. Just you wait." Harry thrust his hips up once, colliding with Louis' arse.

 

Louis groaned. "Enough from you. We've got to go. Let me up."

 

Harry released him, and Louis gracefully stepped out onto the wing again. Harry climbed down the ladder, a process made much more difficult by the bulge still under his sweats.

 

Harry could hear the voices getting closer, but he couldn't leave quite yet. He looked up at Louis, still perched on the wing. "When will I see you next?" he asked. 

 

Louis leaned against his plane, curves and smile ridiculously outrageous like a pin-up model from Harry's wildest wet dreams.

 

"You'll see me on your six. Tomorrow. Unless those moves of yours really are as good as advertised."

 

Harry smirked at him. _Challenge accepted._ As if he needed more reason to bring his A-game against Rogue. "In that case, I'm looking forward to showing an old dog a few new tricks."

 

Harry turned to leave the hangar bay, but Louis softly whistled him back. "Can't forget these," he said quietly, tossing something down at Harry. "Wouldn't want you to forget your name."

 

Harry caught the dog tags in mid-air and brushed his thumb across the stamped print of his name.

 

 **LT. HARRY STYLES** in big, bold letters. Right next to the silver paper plane.

 

"I'm not the one who forgets...it's everyone else," Harry said, sadness creeping into his voice again.

 

"I certainly won't," Louis told him quietly, smile soft again.

 

Harry didn't have time to reply, because the voices were far too close now, just a few planes away. Louis crawled back into his cockpit, ducking down and out of sight. Harry had no choice to make a mad dash for the exit, trying his best to hide behind planes and equipment racks to stay out of sight. He managed surprisingly well considering his current state of fluster, and soon found himself back in the quiet, empty hallways of the carrier.

 

It was a long trek back to his bed - briefly interrupted by a stop in the showers as promised - but eventually Harry tucked himself back into his rack in the darkness with his pod-mates slumbering quietly (or not so quietly) around him. Harry thought it would take him forever to fall asleep after such an eventful day, but sleep hit him rather quickly instead.

 

His dreams were much the same as they were every night. Soaring through the clouds, chasing after an unnamed target. But tonight there was something different about those dreams. Tonight, he recognized the voice in his ear, pushing him forward and giving him direction.

 

_"I'm proud of you, my little Sparrowhawk. I'm proud of you, son."_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments below if you are so inclined! They always make me smile! :)
> 
>    
> Sidenote: Still in need of a beta (preferably someone who’s had experience doing so before and a good grasp on grammar because mine is abysmal sometimes). I also have two more exciting works in the queue that could use a beta from the get go! Message me on Tumblr if interested and we can chat (RealityBetterThanFiction)! Or just stop by and say hi!
> 
> Cheers!


	7. Premier Delta (HMS Elizabeth) - Week Four - (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second half of week four at Premier Delta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Squadron!
> 
> I am SO SO SO sorry for the delay. Literally I am shamefully embarrassed for how long it's been. Life got in the way, unfortunately, and this chapter was a monster to write, but here's the next installment! We get some new perspectives/POVs in this one too! Thank you for sticking with it. It is truly appreciated. This chapter is dedicated to all of you patient people.
> 
> A few notes:
> 
> -I want to send my sincerest gratitude to my lovely, incredible, amazing RIO/beta Bubblymar. Her encouragement and patience are the reasons this chapter is posted. So much love to you, darling! I've so enjoyed working with you and look forward to much more!
> 
> -Also! If you're looking for another WIP to read, please check out wildestdream's "you are in love". I'm beta-ing it for her and it's lovely (as is she)!
> 
> -Just a reminder that the depictions of the characters in this story have nothing to do with their namesakes in real life. They are merely plot devices, and unfortunately someone always has to be the bad guy. Sorry!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: NSFW content and description of a plane crash at the end of the chapter. Be safe, loves. Message me here or on Tumblr if you don't feel comfortable reading, and I'll catch you up to speed. Please note, I'm awful at tagging, so if there is something you feel should be tagged for the benefit of other readers, please let me know, and I'd be more than happy to oblige. I'm going to try to update them every chapter for anyone new that comes on board!
> 
> Apologies for so many notes!  
>  
> 
> xxxxx
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy and thanks for reading!
> 
> Mood Music:
> 
> Sail - AWOLNATION
> 
> Inside of You - Hoobastank ;)

**RealityBetterThanFiction’s Crash-Course to Aviation:**

 

Limey - An old derogatory term for a member of the Royal Navy that stems all the way back to the 1850s where sailors used to add lime/lemon juice to their rations to prevent scurvy (gross!).

Rotorhead - Naval slang term for a helicopter pilot such as our beloved Commander Corden.

Charlie Foxtrot - A much less offending way to say something is a total mess in naval slang (aka Cluster Fuck = CF = Charlie Foxtrot).

 

*Reminder to check the trigger warnings in the notes at the beginning of the chapter before reading! 

 

Story starts below...Enjoy!

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Harry should have seen this coming. He really, _really_ should have seen this one coming. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate. As if the stress of a highly competitive flight school, daily run-ins with death by jet plane, and navigating a burgeoning secret relationship wasn’t enough. Now Harry had to worry about his RIO’s life and limb, considering that Niall had quite impressively made himself Public Enemy Number One aboard the HMS Elizabeth. Like always, whenever Harry’s attention strayed, even for just a moment, Niall could be counted on to start the next apocalypse.

 

The most impressive part of Niall’s newfound infamy had to be the timeframe. It had taken Niall less than twenty four hours to insert himself into the harmonious inner workings of things aboard the carrier, and then subsequently sabotage them. By that, meaning waging an all out battle between the 1D squadron and Lizzie’s resident squadron, The Mighty Wings. It had started with Niall’s theft of food, as most dilemmas usually did, and had escalated from there in a bitter back and forth where no man aboard was safe.

 

“Shower of cunts!” Niall hollered as soon as the 1D squadron all piled into their ready room from afternoon class.

 

Harry sighed from the back of the group, unable to see what had inflamed his usually cheery RIO. “What’s going on?” Harry asked Ginger, who was standing at his side.

 

Ginger just laughed jovially. “Craic’s about to go on a week long cleanse from the drink, that’s what. Compliments of our friendly mates down the hall.”

 

“In that case, we better prepare ourselves. It’s going to get ugly,” Harry warned, pushing through his fellow recruits to get to Niall.

 

It wasn’t hard to single Niall out of the group, considering he was tomato faced and practically steaming with anger. He was glaring daggers at the front of the room where the podium and white board were located. Harry turned his attention in that direction and had to hold back his laughter for fear of being brutally dismembered by Niall right on the spot.

 

**_Premier Dicks,_ **

**_To commiserate your piss-poor flying._ **

**_Drink up,_ **

**_The Mighty Wings_ **

 

The message was written in big block letters on the whiteboard with an arrow pointed toward the podium. On it was Niall’s emergency booze supply that he had smuggled aboard, sitting in a neat cluster and suspiciously full to the brim considering they had put a good dent in the supply celebrating Harry and Niall's takedown of Rogue.

 

Niall stalked forward and grabbed the first open bottle, a fifth of his favorite Irish whiskey. He squinted his eyes and studied it carefully, then lifted the bottle to his nose. He took a hesitant sniff and then let out an unearthly howl of rage.

 

Harry made a grab for the bottle before Niall could send it hurtling against the whiteboard to shatter everywhere.

 

“What is it?” Liam asked, watching the scene with confusion as Niall let out a loud litany of incredibly creative curses. Some of it didn’t even sound like it was in their national language. Harry was unaware Niall could speak in different tongues. He barely managed English most days.

 

While Niall cussed in what sounded like Farsi, Harry brought the bottle to his own nose. He was instantly hit with the sharp smell of ammonia that could only be identified as urine. He set the bottle down carefully, so as not to spill any on himself.

 

“It appears that the Mighty Wings have forgotten where the loo is,” Harry informed the group. All the faces of the recruits curled in disgust as they looked at the dumped bottles of alcohol on the podium, now full of piss.

 

Niall was still going off on his rampage, kicking chairs and screeching about retribution for such a “ _heinous insult to all mankind_.” Harry didn’t bother trying to intervene. He just let Niall go. He knew Niall would tire himself out eventually. Then Harry would really start to worry. Because just like a hurricane, the worst of the storm was always on the back end of the eye. Niall was most dangerous when he was calm, because it meant that he was plotting...just waiting to strike.

 

“Alright,” Harry said to everyone, clapping his hands for attention. “They’ve made their point. Now we can all go on about our day. Nothing more to see.”

 

Most of the recruits cleared out the room at that, not wanting the duty of cleaning up the piss bottles. Only Liam and Zayn stayed behind with Harry to keep him company while Niall worked out his rage.

 

Exactly as predicted, it only took a few more minutes for Niall’s temper to ease. His normally bright eyes went steely as the heat in his cheeks slowly faded. This was the face of a man with a plan, and Harry had every right to be bloody terrified.

 

“Niall?” he asked hesitantly. “Please don’t do it. Whatever it is that’s going on in that primitive brain of yours. Just don’t.”

 

Harry might as well be talking to a brick wall.

 

“They want to pick a fight? Fine. The _Mighty Wangs_  have no idea what they’ve just started. They’ve never seen an Irishmen separated from his whiskey. Hell to pay, mates. Hell to fuckin’ pay.”

 

Zayn leaned over to Harry, mirth in his voice. “Scarier than a bloody MiG, I reckon.”

 

“You’d be right,” Harry answered, cringing as Niall stormed off to no doubt enact his revenge.

 

And that’s how The Great Squadron War began during week four. From then, it became a vicious battle of asinine, childish pranks, each one more ridiculous than the last.

 

Niall struck back for Piss-Gate by cutting holes in the bottoms of all The Mighty Wings’ piddle packs.

 

They answered by rubbing vinegar in the 1D pilots’ masks so they would have to breath in the vomit-inducing stench on every hop.

 

Then came the pink, sparkly Hello Kitty decals on The Mighty Wings’ flight helmets.

 

It escalated to blue powdered dye in the shower heads, with an innocent Zayn taking the unfortunate hit on that one after coming out of the 1D locker room a very attractive, yet very irritable smurf.

 

Nipple holes cut into work uniforms.

 

Used condoms in the racks.

 

Penises painted on the noses of jets.

 

And of course theft of _all_ edible items in The Mighty Wings’ reserve of snacks…and their playstation.

 

Harry had awoken each morning of week four with new stolen contraband stashed in his bunk, with Niall’s explanation being that Harry was so nice to everyone that he would be least suspected to be in on the plot. Harry partially agreed with that because he _was_ too nice to be involved in any of Niall schemes. Unfortunately, as was always the case with them, Niall saw no problem dragging Harry into his messes. Now Niall was not the only one looking over his shoulder for the next attack. Harry was slowly being consumed by paranoia, he was sure of it.

 

After narrowly avoiding an egg pelting in the mess hall at lunch on Friday, Harry rounded the corner to the 1D ready room, or as Niall had taken to calling it “The Bat Cave,” in a truly awful mood. Niall tagged on his heel, emphatically pleading with him to help with the latest prank.

 

“Come on, Sparrow! This is a _flawless_ plan. Nothing could go wrong!” Niall yapped.

 

Which was complete and total bullshit. Stowing rotten, reeking potatoes in the air vents of The Mighty Wings’ ready room was one thing. But that required breaking into the Air Boss’ private quarters to steal the master keys so that they could abscond with the kitchen’s entire supply of said old spuds. Harry was not about to be Niall’s accomplice for B & E. Next, Niall would want to roll all the Mighty Wings’ jets right off the side of the carrier. Destruction of government property was another thing not on Harry’s immediate to-do list.

 

Besides, he was too busy on his own top secret missions to worry about Niall’s petty war. This had to be stopped.

 

“Well, I think that officially marks it. Your complete departure from reality," Harry sighed.

 

“So you’ll help?” Niall asked, undeterred.

 

“Not a chance. I can’t right now, anyway,” Harry told him, brushing him off like a bothersome gnat. “I’ve got some stuff I need to take care of. I’ll see you before flight prep in an hour, okay?”

 

Harry didn’t wait for Niall to answer before he strode past the ready room and further down the hall, leaving Niall standing in place at the door. Niall hollered down the hallway after him in frustration, “Fine, fine. Whatever. I’ll handle this meself. You’re too soft anyway. Don’t have the bollocks for this kind of business. Go choke on a dick instead.”

 

Harry was really hoping for just that, honestly.

 

“Better work on my gag reflex then," Harry called over his shoulder before rounding the corner. Niall would forgive him. He always did. Especially since he seemed to be getting such joy out of teasing Harry whenever he showed up to class or flight prep with messy hair, rosy cheeks, and his lips bruised and red raw.

 

Aside from the prank war, the other hot topic of the week, ever since Harry’s fateful hop on Monday afternoon, had been centered around, “ _who’s gonna nail that sonofabitch next?_ ”

 

Of course that could only be referring to Louis, because no one besides Harry and Niall had won a hop against Rogue yet. Some had come close, but Harry still had that little accolade all to himself for now. He was trying not to be smug about it. Mostly succeeding. But every time the question was posed among the pilots, Niall smirked and elbowed Harry in the ribs, whispering, “Based on how he looked in Aerodynamics today, I’d say someone is _already_ hitting his nail right on the head. Repeatedly.”

 

Harry couldn’t really help it if this illicit little tryst was short circuiting his humility.

 

Their first kiss in Louis’ plane on Monday night had burst the floodgates, it seemed. Since then, they had been fooling around at every opportunity they could find. As Niall loved to point out, Louis had been equally mussed and smug in class, still beautifully flushed after their rendezvous. Unfortunately, Harry was usually in a much worse state, since Louis decided that Harry’s punishment for cornering him in the middle of the day right before class was to leave Harry unsatisfied after finding his own pleasure. Harry suffered through Aerodynamics each day having to suppress his lust (and his boner) whenever Louis passed by his desk smelling of _them_. Harry pretended like he hated it. He didn’t. Mostly because he knew quite well what would go down _after_ class as his reward for patience.

 

As Harry searched the corridors, he could already feel his blood pumping faster. Since it was just after lunch, Louis would most likely be in a meeting with Captain Cowell in flight ops. He didn’t have Louis’ daily schedule memorized or anything, it was just that things on the carrier were quite predictable, making it that much easier for Harry to track Louis down whenever he was feeling the slightest bit horny…which was pretty much all the time now. Louis was also quite adept at finding Harry too, so if this was considered stalking, they were equally guilty.

 

Harry peeked through the door to flight ops and saw Louis standing with Captain Cowell, hunched over a computer monitor and speaking to one another in low, serious tones. When Harry’s dick twitched in his pants at the mere sight of Louis leaning over the desk, he decided to make his entrance.

 

“Excuse me, Sirs. I hope I’m not interrupting, but Rogue is needed in the ready room. Squadron matters,” Harry said, giving a formal salute to Captain Cowell. Harry didn’t even look at Louis, which took a herculean effort on his part considering the way his arse looked bent over like he was. Louis straightened up, and Harry had to clench his fists to stop himself from pushing Louis back down again.

 

“I suppose I can spare him for a bit, but only that,” Captain Cowell said. “Rogue, we’ll continue later. We’ll be monitoring the situation, and I’ll keep you abreast of any changes. Stay available. Things may escalate quickly without warning.”

 

“Yes, Sir. Understood. Keep me updated,” Louis replied, saluting Captain Cowell before turning to Harry. His face was as carefully passive as Harry’s. Harry was only able to detect the heat masked in Louis’ eyes because of the inordinate amount of time he’d been trying to get a read on them the past few weeks.

 

Harry led them out of flight ops and back through the carrier, both silent as Louis followed at his side. They passed the ready room and Harry kept walking. Louis didn’t comment, just kept pace, although Harry could see the smirk grow on Louis’ lips in his peripheral vision. They descended level after level until they were in the deepest part of the ship, devoid of pretty much all crew.

 

Harry rounded a few more corners in the dim lighting until he found his destination. With a quick glance in both directions, he heaved open the steel portal door to the reactor room.

 

Without looking back, he marched down the metal bridge that overlooked the steaming reactors that not only shot their planes off the ship, but also kept the whole carrier afloat. The room was swelteringly hot, air so thick with steam that it was hard to breathe, but then again, maybe that was just because of Louis’ proximity. The entire space was also glowing in a lovely amber hue, painting Louis’ already bronzed skin a pure, incandescent gold. Harry couldn’t wait to get his hands and mouth on every inch of it.

 

Harry continued down the bridge until he found what he was looking for - a hidden alcove barely big enough for two bodies. Thank God Louis was compact.

 

Without warning, Harry grabbed Louis by the front of his uniform and shoved him into the alcove, following right after him until they were pressed against each other from nose to toe.

 

“Cozy,” Louis commented, nudging Harry's cheek with his nose. “But this isn’t the ready room.”

 

Harry pressed his lips against the pulse point in Louis’ neck, happy to see that it was already racing and slick with heat. The slight prickle of stubble scratched against Harry’s lips as he traced his mouth over Louis’ Adam’s apple.

 

“And this definitely isn’t squadron matters,” Louis sighed, head tilting back to afford Harry more room to work.

 

Harry popped the top two buttons on Louis’ uniform and attached his mouth to the sharp angle of his right collarbone, pressing kisses along its length from sternum to shoulder. Louis’ own nimble fingers worked their way into the shaggy hair at the nape of Harry’s neck, tugging briefly for every sucking kiss Harry laid on him.

 

When it was Louis’ turn to attack Harry’s neck, he first lifted Harry’s dog tags over his head and pocketed them in one fluid motion, followed by a sharp nip over Harry’s chest right where the tags had previously laid. Harry reveled in the sensation, knowing that Louis had been working all week long on leaving a permanent bruise right over that very same spot. It was practically plum by this point, the perfect outline of Louis’ lethal little mouth. Louis really did have a thing for love bites, especially on Harry’s broad chest. Maybe if Louis kept going at this particular spot, he would eventually mine deep enough to leave marks on Harry’s heart too. It certainly felt like he was chipping away at it already.

 

Before Harry could dwell too much on that heady thought, he used Louis’ own dog tags to pull them into another kiss and give his sensitive skin a bit of reprieve. He brushed his tongue along Louis’ bottom lip, seeking entrance until Louis parted his lips and deepened the kiss.

 

“So we’re really going at it in the reactor room, then? How very _Titanic_ of you,” Louis mused, voice breathy despite his teasing bravado. As if this was such a strange place for a make out session compared to all the other crevices of the carrier they had found useful for their explicit purposes the past few days. Plane cockpits. Storage rooms. Kitchen pantries. Bathroom stalls. They had all seen their fair share of action.

 

“I do love a good high seas adventure. And young DiCaprio did play a pretty major part in me realizing I favored blokes over birds,” Harry teased before reattaching their lips.

 

“What’s next, Leo lover? Shagging in a steamy car in stowage? Or are you angling to draw me like a French girl in my birthday suit?”

 

“Not very good with a pencil. Better with my hands, remember?” Harry mumbled against Louis’ mouth. Harry’s fingers worked the rest of Louis’ shirt buttons loose and skimmed down his bare abs until they reached his belt buckle, just dipping below the waistline in the smattering of dark hair leading from his navel. Louis pressed his own hands into Harry’s shoulder blades, pulling him closer.

 

“Ah yes, finger painting extraordinaire.”

 

Harry groaned when Louis shifted so that one of his strong thighs was against Harry’s crotch. Harry tried not to hump it like an animal, but his efforts were futile. Louis’ thighs were made for sin.

 

“Always so up for it,” Louis chided. “I swear your libido is fueled by a Catapult system.”

 

“Christ, do you always talk your way through a hand job?” Harry whined, giving Louis a particularly hard thrust to shut him up. Like that would actually work.

 

“Well it’s a good thing it’s me talking and not you. Takes you bloody ages to get through a sentence with that morbid voice of yours. Could probably finish meself off twice before you even get halfway through talking dirty to me.”

 

Now that was something Harry would very much like to see. Just the thought of it alone was probably enough to sustain Harry’s wet dreams for the next few weeks. And besides, Harry was always down for a challenge...especially if there was a potential for orgasms at the end of it.

 

“Okay. Let’s just see.” With considerable mental fortitude, Harry pulled his hips back and looked down at Louis’ crotch, waggling his eyebrows. The bulge under Louis’ khaki trousers was obscene, and Harry’s mouth was watering. Harry took another step away until his back hit the opposite wall, removing his hands from Louis’ waist.

 

Louis narrowed his eyes, pupils blown so wide that his normal blue irises weren’t even visible. His voice came out in a feral hiss, “You dragged me all the way down here to watch me wank one off by myself while you patter on like a monotone sex robot?”

 

Harry shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets to hide just how much he liked that idea. Only his toes were touching Louis’ now, the rest of them separated by a thick cloud of sexual tension. It was physically painful not to reach out and grab at him, but Harry wanted to push Louis a little bit. So far between them, it was usually the opposite.

 

Louis glared at Harry as he started working on his own belt buckle and fly until his trousers were gaping open and exposing the black, cotton pants beneath. His fierce gaze stayed on Harry while he brought his hand up to his face and licked a fat stripe up his palm. Then his hand dipped down the front of his pants, hidden by the soft fabric. The first touch drew a loud moan from Louis’ throat, his eyes rolling back in his head with pleasure.  

 

Harry had to be strong. He couldn’t lose this little power struggle, even if his tenuous upper hand was already slipping. He watched dumbly for a few moments until Louis kicked his foot out and made impact with Harry’s shin.

 

Harry had promised dirty talk after all, and judging by Louis’ venomous look, Harry better start talking or he was going to get much worse than a kick to the leg. Harry had seen Louis boot the football. He wasn’t going to risk any more bodily harm at the hand (or foot, rather) of Louis’ deadly aim.

 

“Fuck, Lou. You look so good like that. How does it feel?” Harry murmured.

 

Louis rolled his eyes at Harry’s lame start. “Would feel a lot better if it wasn’t me own fuckin’ hand.”

 

Harry smiled, eyes locked on the concealed movement of Louis’ wrist. “I’m sure it would. After all, mine are so much bigger.”

 

“Everything about you is bigger, you bloody oaf,” Louis muttered, gasping at the end of it as his hand twisted out of sight. Louis’ back arched against the wall. The sight of a small wet spot on the front of Louis’ pants made Harry break out in full body shivers. It took every ounce of his concentration to keep up this game when all he wanted to do was drop to his knees and press his face against against that damp fabric.

 

Harry’s knees didn’t give out, but he did lean forward, unable to stay out of Louis’ space for long. His nose traced along the hinge of Louis’ jaw where the delicate hair of his sideburns was already drenched with sweat. Harry breathed right against that salty, slick skin, “You wouldn’t know that, now would you? Haven’t seen what I’ve got going on down there…yet.”

 

And that was the unfortunate truth. For as much as they’d been messing around, things hadn’t quite crossed that line.

 

Making out? Check.

 

Groping? Check.

 

Dry humping? Double check.

 

Harry had been down to do laundry twice as much as normal the last few days because of the increased rate at which he was going through his pants thanks to his damn near hourly meet-ups with Louis. He really should have had better foresight about this and packed more pairs of spare underwear for these two weeks at sea.

 

But despite the countless kisses shared, they hadn’t really gone further than second base yet. There wasn’t usually time or privacy for anything other than feverish tangles of tongues and rushed orgasms, all while still fully clothed. It was starting to feel like high school all over again, wild teenage hormones and kissing the hot, older footie captain beneath the bleachers. Harry was getting desperate for more adult pleasures. He wanted skin. He wanted all of Louis’ skin pressed to all of his own. He wanted to trace Louis’ naked curves and feel the exact place where spine gave way to arse. He wanted to fit his fingers in the spaces between Louis’ ribs and feel his every gasping breath. He wanted to bite his way along the inside of Louis’ thighs and feel the sparse hair there tickle his nose. He wanted to map out every freckle and blemish on Louis’ skin and use them to mark the spots where he was most sensitive. And he wanted Louis to know him just as intimately. The reactor room wasn’t the place any of that was going to happen, but that didn’t mean that Harry couldn’t nudge things a little further in that direction.

 

He still wasn’t done teasing Louis just yet, though. And he still wasn’t done with his attempt at dirty talk, although maybe Louis had been right about his timing. Perhaps it was time to up the ante. Maybe using visual aids would help Harry make his point.

 

Harry reached down and palmed at his own crotch, painfully uncomfortable beneath the stiff fabric of his uniform. Louis’ eyes tracked the movement once he realized there was a show to be seen, focused in on the way Harry’s hands stroked over himself as if trying to memorize the exact pattern to be duplicated later.

 

“Well, get it out, then,” Louis finally snapped, writhing against the wall. “Put your cock where your… _oh fuck_ …mouth is.”

 

“Hm. Much rather put my mouth where _your_ cock is.” Another thing that had been a frequent occurrence in Harry’s wet dreams starring Louis. Dreams but sadly not reality yet.

 

Louis moaned brokenly at that. He reached out and grabbed for Harry’s hair, tugging him forward into a searing kiss, all teeth and tongues.

 

Harry’s heart sang _victory,_ while his dick cried _mercy_.

 

“Not here,” Louis hissed against Harry’s mouth. Their hands kept knocking into one another’s through layers of fabric as they worked themselves over, pressed against each other.

 

“Wha-?” Harry gasped.

 

“Not…here,” Louis repeated between kisses. “Later. For now, get those big hands on me. Around me. Around _us_.”

 

Harry was very much down with that plan. He'd been waiting for this go ahead for what felt like ages, even though it had only really been a few days.

 

It took no effort at all to have his pants around his knees, with Louis’ barely making it over his bum before Harry wedged their bare crotches together. Before Harry even made a move, he took a fleeting moment to look down, groaning at what he saw. It was highly unfair that Louis should have such a beautiful cock when he already had so much else going for him. Unparalleled pilot skills, a perfect arse, a sharp wit, even sharper cheekbones...Harry should have known that Louis would have the size to back up his ego. Louis certainly hadn’t been lying when he said that he didn’t have a problem with endowment. Harry was going to die. Death by dick. At least it wasn’t the worst way to go out.

 

“Fuck,” Harry gulped, hands fumbling, unsure how he was supposed to proceed now.

 

Louis seemed to have the answer, reaching out and grabbing for Harry’s hips to yank them together. The first real brush of hot skin was hell. The next was heaven. At this rate, Harry wouldn’t even last long enough to get his hands anywhere near Louis’ groin. He kept rutting forward, chasing the contact until Louis raised Harry’s hand to his mouth, wetly kissing over Harry’s palm before licking over the life line.

 

When Louis relinquished it, Harry dropped that hand down and brushed it tentatively over Louis’ bare length, skin soft and smooth. Harry traced his fingers from root to tip a few times before he lost his patience...or rather Louis lost his patience, pressing his hips forward for more. Harry was powerless to refuse when his own resolved was so quickly fading. They both gasped when Harry’s grip widened, wrapping around both of them with one meaty palm. Their matching moans melded together against the loud hiss of the reactors, Harry’s deep and Louis’ treble.

 

It took about two seconds for them to find a matching rhythm, and from there it was no holds barred. It was hot and fast, and Louis’ breath was ragged against Harry’s ear while he palmed over Harry’s arse, driving his thrusts. Harry worked them with a tight fist of one hand while the other braced himself against the wall to keep them both from sinking to the floor in a puddle of lust and limbs.

 

“So what happened to your highly touted dirty talk?” Louis asked, voice hitching at the end.

 

Fuck the dirty talk. There were far dirtier things going on right now that demanded Harry’s full attention. “Don’t wanna talk,” Harry gritted out, punctuating it with a heavy thrust.

 

Louis bit down on Harry’s lower lip, teeth sinking into the kiss-plumped flesh. “You were equally quiet in class earlier too. _Tsk. Tsk_.”

 

And that had been true, but it was mostly because Louis hadn’t blitzed him with questions. Hadn’t really for the past few days. Harry had been much more pleased attending class lately than he had been back on base. Giddy even, as opposed to feeling like he was marching to the guillotine.

 

“Just soaking in your wisdom, oh great one. Learned a lot today. Easier to show than tell.”

 

Harry had found today’s lecture topic fascinating, in fact. Or maybe it was just the person delivering the lecture that had held Harry’s undivided attention. Louis had waxed poetic for a full fifteen minutes about the effects of friction and drag on engine thrust to the point that Harry had to move his binder to his lap like a school boy. He would very much like to test the validity of Louis’ theories...right now.

 

“Is that so? Your schematic today was quite good, by the way. But I’d suggest a rolling reversal instead. You're on the bottom, on your back. They think they've got you pinned. And then _Bam!_ You're on top. Go to guns and take them down. They won't know what hit them.”

 

With that, Louis shoved his lithe body forward, slamming Harry back into the opposite wall. Harry yelped when his bare arse collided with the cold surface. Louis smirked, arching a brow in challenge.

 

If Louis wanted to play this game, he would lose. No one did puns and double entendres better than Harry Styles.

 

"So that’s your preferred move?” Harry asked, letting Louis think he had control for the moment being. “I do so greatly enjoy being on top. But when I'm on top, I can't see their six. Who could say no to that view?”

 

In one uncharacteristically quick move, Harry grabbed Louis’ shoulders and spun him around, pushing Louis chest against the opposite wall. Louis hands shot up to brace himself, and Harry’s larger ones pinned them to the wall. This position left Harry with the perfect vantage of Louis’ shapely “six”, surprisingly tanned even below his waistline.

 

Harry leaned forward, chin resting on Louis’ shoulder so he could speak directly into Louis’ ear. “I much prefer chasing from behind. Thrust at full capacity. Ready to wreck them.” Before he could deliver that first thrust against Louis’ luscious arse, Louis had their positions reversed again, never to be outdone. Face to face, Harry knew this couldn’t last much longer. They blinked at each other for another long moment before Harry got back to the matters at hand...or rather got his hand back on the matter.

 

“Well...I’d say I’ve imparted some valuable wisdom today, then. Nice to know my hard work is appreciated. Along with my ‘six’.”

 

“Mm. Very much so to both.” Harry reached his free hand down and palmed Louis’ arse, which made Louis drive forward even harder. “Christ, you’re so… _hot_ ,” Harry groaned. Louis was radiating as much heat as the reactors, from his hands against Harry’s arse to the smooth glide of him in Harry's grip. His tongue darted out and caught a bead of salty sweat as it trailed down Louis’ throat. Louis’ damp fringe stuck to the side of Harry’s temple when Louis nipped at his earlobe.

 

Harry shuddered and gritted his teeth, pleasure sparking at the base of his spine in warning. _Not yet_ , he begged his body. He had to hold off a bit longer. Just until he took Louis apart first. He stopped the thrust of his hips and loosened his grip. Louis groaned, yanking at Harry’s clothes to get him to move again.

 

“Just…hang on…one second,” Harry wheezed. His eyes went cross when those curious fingers of Louis’ teased over Harry’s tip.

 

Louis tutted, voice coy and seductive. “So soon? It’s been a long tour, sailor. Hasn’t it? Don’t tell me you’re losing steam already.”

 

Harry was a little offended that Louis was still capable of intelligible speech, let alone thought. That had to be changed. Immediately. A throaty growl tore from Harry’s throat as he pushed Louis up against the wall. The force of it was so rough that Louis was momentarily suspended in air against Harry’s chest, toes unable to touch the ground.

 

“Fuck. I guess you’re not the only one who’s been waiting too long. That’s it, Hazza.”

 

The name drove Harry wild, rutting against Louis in a frenzy with his hand back around them at twice the force. Louis’ savage moan had Harry’s blood thrumming through his veins at breakneck speed.

 

“No more waiting now. Let go,” Harry panted. He wanted to see it. He wanted to see Louis throw away all his careful control. Louis was never more beautiful than he was in these rare moments of vulnerability when he was out of his fucking mind with pleasure. Harry wanted him to absolutely lose it. Harry wanted to _make_ him absolutely lose it. Because God knew that Harry had already lost it, and he didn’t want to be alone in that.

 

“Fucking _shit_ ,” Louis breathed, body slamming back against the wall with the strength of Harry’s thrusts, feet still unable to find solid purchase on the floor. His hands had a vice like grip in Harry’s hair, pulling so hard Harry was pretty sure he’d leave with bald patches.

 

When it happened, it was a total black-out. Or maybe a white-out. Harry didn’t really know. All he knew was that Louis was so loud that Harry was worried they would be able to hear him on the flight deck. Then Harry’s mind was wiped clean of everything when he followed Louis over the edge.

 

The next thing Harry registered was the cool press of the wall against his forehead, slumped over Louis with their chests panting in the same ragged rhythm. Harry still had his hand around them, and when he pulled his hips back though the tight ring of his fist, they both hissed at the sensitivity, both still shivering with aftershocks.

 

When Harry had enough mental coherency, he pushed off against the wall from where he had been crushing Louis. He instead grabbed two handfuls of Louis’ sweaty arse and pulled him so that Louis was resting against him instead with Harry’s back to the opposite wall.

 

“Good lesson,” Harry panted. “I’m quite fond of rolling reversals now, though I could still use a few more run throughs to make sure I’ve got it down just right.”

 

“Oh I think you’ve got it down fairly well, but I’d be happy to help you practice anytime,” Louis said, equally spent. “Your dirty talk could use some work, though.”

 

Harry couldn’t argue with that. He was content to call this one a draw. There would be plenty more opportunities to impress Louis with his x-rated eloquence. At this rate, by the time he graduated, he’d probably be good enough to earn himself some kind of accolade for his achievement in sexual monologues. Maybe instead of a shiny, golden plane, it could be a shiny, golden penis on the top of the trophy. Harry would proudly display that one on his mantle right beside the 1D trophy.

 

Louis sighed as he placed a hand on Harry’s chest and pushed back, the other brushing through his drooping fringe. He looked down and chuckled. “Speaking of dirty. These stains are going to be hard to explain.”

 

Harry’s gaze followed to take in the state of their attire (and flagging erections) and frowned at the thin ropes of white that painted the bottom of his uniform shirt and Louis’ bare stomach.

 

“Fuck. I’m going to have to do laundry… _again_ ,” Harry complained. He unbuttoned his uniform shirt the rest of the way from where Louis had torn open the collar, leaving him in a plain, white ribbed tank. He winced for a brief moment before using the edge of his already dirty shirt to wipe himself clean before tucking away and zipping up. Louis amusedly watched him before stealing Harry’s shirt to do the same for himself.

 

“Hey!” Harry protested, yanking the shirt back.

 

Louis shrugged. “What? Yours was already dirty. Seemed logical.”

 

“Nothing with you is logical. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my fucking mind,” Harry muttered, rubbing his now clean hand through his hair. He could feel how damp it was with sweat. His first step would be a shower, he decided, then he’d see to the laundry.

 

"I'm much more concerned about you losing your edge. Whatever you do, hold onto that," Louis said, eyes a touch more serious than before.

 

Louis leaned in to nip at Harry’s chest again where it was now further exposed by the tank. Harry let him for a few moments before gently guiding Louis’ clever mouth away from his skin. Enough damage had already been done.

 

“Duly noted. I’ve got to go. You know…flying. And stuff.”

 

"So articulate." Louis smirked. “I've got to go too. You know…teaching. And stuff.” His pitch dropped an octave, clearly imitating Harry’s voice. Doing an awful job of it too. Harry didn’t really sound that boring and constipated, did he? No, definitely not. Louis was just being a dick…with a nice dick. Mmm. Yes. Very nice dick.

 

_Focus_!

 

“I’ve got you this afternoon?” Harry asked.

 

“You’ve already had me, I reckon. Unless you’re up for another quickie before we go. With your less than impressive stamina, we probably have the time.”

 

Harry hit Louis with a highly displeased look, tempting though his offer may be.

 

“Alright, yes,” Louis conceded. “You’re against me up there. Another shot to show me how good your hands are…although I really do hope you don’t grip your yoke quite as tight as you did me. Planes are a little more sensitive, I’m afraid.”

 

Harry would now be unable to even touch the yoke this afternoon without thinking of how that same hand had felt around Louis…around _them_ …just an hour before. Splendid.

 

Harry closed his eyes and prayed for strength.

 

Louis laughed, bright and airy, before leaning up and pressing a lightening quick kiss to the sharpest point of Harry’s jaw. “Go get changed. See you topside.”

 

Then Harry was alone in the alcove, waiting the few customary minutes in Louis’ wake to be sure they weren’t seen together in such states. He took the time to steady his breathing before finally exiting the heat of the reactor room into the relative coolness of the hallway. He sighed in relief as the sweat began to evaporate off his body, leaving him shivering and chilled.

 

Thirty minutes later, Harry stood with Niall on the flight deck at Georgia Rose’s side while they waited for her to finish guzzling fuel. Out of the corner of Harry’s eye he saw a familiar figure, also garbed in flight gear and helmet, sauntering toward them.

 

Louis nodded to them as he slipped by, not even blinking an eyelash as his hand brushed against Harry’s in passing. Harry did nothing to give it away either, and then the moment was gone, Louis behind them and off in search of Diana. Harry would have sworn it was just a figment of his imagination if it wasn’t for the dog tags that had been left in his hand after Louis’ touch had gone.

 

With his tags was another note.

 

Harry turned away from Niall for a moment, feigning a quick scan of Georgia Rose’s landing gear. He unfolded the scrap of paper, reading it quickly before stowing it away in his pocket.

 

_Win today, meet me tonight. 9pm in the hangar bay. Otherwise you’re on your own. xxx_

 

Harry turned to Niall, who was already smirking at him with his arms crossed over his chest and an eyebrow arched over his aviators. The lad really did see everything.

 

Niall rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Bum Bandit. We’ll take him down, and you’ll get your reward. Don’t you worry.”

 

It took Harry ten minutes this time to get radar lock on Rogue. But knowing Louis, Harry probably wouldn’t last nearly that long tonight when he collected his prize.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Sophia really hated weekly team meetings. They were the bane of her existence as a 1D instructor. Unfortunately they were a necessary evil to debrief at the end of the week so that the recruits could be evaluated and decision could be made about what still needed to be addressed over the course of the upcoming week. Late on Friday night, the instructors were having one such meeting all sat around the table in the war room. With Captain Cowell at the head of the conference table leading proceedings, the instructors tediously analyzed every hop, assignment and interaction with the recruits. With so many strong opinions in the room, these meetings could last well into the night. A quick glance at her watch told her it was just after ten and that they had only just started. Thank God she’d thought to stop at the mess hall for a cup of coffee beforehand or she likely wouldn’t survive this. Besides the coffee, the only other thing to get her through these meetings was Louis’ presence at her side, offering sardonic and sharp comments in her ear when one of the other instructors got too arrogant or superior. Having Louis here had been an absolute joy, making her life so much easier with just the presence of an old friend. But she was a bit concerned that while his new role here was helping her, it was doing quite the opposite for Louis himself.

 

“Well, I guess we shouldn’t wait any longer,” Captain Cowell said, tapping his fingers against the table. “We’d best get started if we want any sleep tonight. We can’t wait all night for him. Does anyone even know where he is?”

 

“He had office hours tonight, I believe. Probably running late with a recruit,” Sophia offered despite the fact that it was a bold faced lie. Louis’ office hours had been right after hers this afternoon, which he had also been tardy for. It was becoming a pattern of late, one that Sophia was growing more and more concerned about the longer it persisted. She thought she had been the only one to notice the new behavior, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

 

Commander Winston snorted, but didn’t comment. Of all the instructors, he had been the least welcoming of Louis’ new position on board at 1D. He and Louis had been getting into frequent arguments at team meetings, and Sophia suspected it was more than just simple differences of opinion that fueled these heated debates. There was clearly no love loss between them and neither were shy about letting the other know that. They had a long history as rivals, stemming back to basic flight school, and it wasn’t looking like they were willing to bury the hatchet any time soon. It probably also didn’t help that since joining the 1D team, Louis was on the fast track to advancement within the program. Not everyone was pleased about that development, it seemed.

 

Before anyone could question Louis’ absence further, the door to the war room banged open and Louis hurried through. He dropped into the vacant seat at Sophia’s side, breathing heavily. “Apologies. Got held up with a recruit. Did I miss anything?”

 

Sophia narrowed her eyes at Louis’ appearance, hair damp and skin flushed as if he was fresh from a shower.

 

Captain Cowell sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “No. We were waiting on you, Rogue. Now that you’re here, let’s begin and not waste any more time. I’m afraid I have to take a call in a few minutes, and I’d like to at least hear the current standings before I need to take leave.”

 

Sophia clicked her computer to life and brought up the current rankings, projected on the large display screen on the wall opposite the conference table. “Week four statistics are as follows,” she began. “Styles and Horan still leading by four points. Payne and Malik in second. A good six points separate them from the rest of the pack, with a two way tie between Grimshaw’s team and James’ team fighting for third. Garfield and Sheeran are behind them by another four. All still on track to graduate based on current points and future projections, although there is still some concern about Garfield.”

 

The instructors all started talking amongst themselves while Sophia clicked to a detailed grid of point distribution and data on flight performance.

 

“I still say that Payne and Malik are going to pull through in the end,” Winston said loudly over the hum of conversation. He tapped a few buttons on his computer, taking over control from Sophia’s screen, and brought up a video from one of the pair’s recent hops. “Payne doesn’t make mistakes. He flies by the book. Does everything right. Malik is just as meticulous. They’re predictably consistent. That’s what you want in the air when you’re in flight ops directing the fight. And that’s what you want at your wing when you’re up there in the middle of the action.”

 

Commander Dornan nodded at his side, watching the impressive maneuver on the screen that Payne pulled to take him down earlier today. “Agreed. They’re by far the best. Everyone else is just playing catch up.”

 

“I don’t know if I necessarily agree,” Commander Corden put in from his place next to Captain Cowell. “I know you fly boys don’t like to listen to us helo guys, but based on what I’ve seen on duty, the guys I always end up rescuing are the ones that fly like robots. Strong flyers, but not able to adapt and think on their feet. It takes more than a one-way-goes pattern to make it in a real dogfight. The ones that aren’t afraid to deviate from their pre-programing when things go to shit are the ones that win in the end. Because let’s be honest, 90% of a dogfight is managing the unpredictable. No one in this class does that better than Styles. He’s instinctive. He fits his flying to the opponent at hand, and _that’s_ what makes a good pilot. He’s not catching up to anyone. He’s in the lead right now, and I’d reckon that’s how he’ll finish the program.”

 

Winston rolled his eyes. “Christ, Corden. You’re starting to sound like Tomlinson. Developed a soft spot for Styles too, have you?”

 

Sophia put her hand to her temple, already rubbing at the spot she knew would start to ache. Apparently Winston was gunning for another bitter battle tonight. As expected, Louis rose to the challenge. Sophia had lost track of how many times over the past few weeks they had engaged in this particular fight.

 

“Careful, Benny. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking the esteemed Commander Winston is pouting because a lowly recruit keeps getting him on lock,” Louis said, tone mockingly passive as he studied his nails.

 

“This coming from the supposed salvation to aviation who was advertised to come in here and give our recruits the work over. And here that same _lowly recruit_ seems to have your number too,” Winston retorted. “How many times has he gotten you this week? Three? Four? I thought you were _unbeatable_.”

 

Louis smirked at Winston. “I am...at least when it comes to you. Green doesn’t suit you, mate. If you’re jealous of Styles, I suggest you take a page from his book and _practice_. Hard work is the key to success, after all. Didn’t need fancy flight school to teach me that. Learned that one in primary school. Maybe you missed that lesson.”

 

“Maybe so. But at least I learned the one on punctuality,” Winston snapped back.

 

“Yet tragically didn’t quite catch the one on how to live life without a stick up your arse,” Louis retorted easily.

 

“Don’t need something up my arse like you.”

 

Louis let out an uproarious laugh. “Maybe that’s your problem, mate. You’d be a lot less high strung if you were getting more action than just what you manage in your plane.”

 

Winston’s face deepened to a furious shade of red, warning of the impending explosion. Thankfully before he could take his answering shot, one of Captain Cowell’s underlings hurried into the room. “Captain? Sorry to disturb, but the conference call from Culdrose has started. I’m afraid you’re needed urgently.”

 

Captain Cowell nodded and stood from his seat. “I’ll see you all in the morning. Dr. Smith, please send me the highlights from what’s discussed in the meeting after I’m gone. Gentlemen...play nice,” he said, eyeing Winston and Louis before leaving the room.

 

Once he was gone, Corden cleared his throat to break the tense silence. “Okay then, boys. Are we done with the sand-yard bickering? As entertaining as it is, I’d much rather catch a bit of sleep tonight if it’s all well with you. Can we continue civilly, or am I going to have to put you both on time out until you act your age again?” he teased, winking at Louis. Sophia was happy that aside from herself, Louis had also seemed to develop a bond with Corden as well. Corden was probably the only other pilot on this entire carrier whose ego wasn’t vast enough to rival the ocean. The same could not be said for Winston and Dornan, who Louis privately referred to as Prick and Dick.

 

Louis smiled back at Corden. “I’ll be on my best behavior from here on out. Promise,” Louis said, holding up his pinky.

 

“Smashing. Banshee?” Corden asked with raised eyebrows.

 

Winston only snorted and shrugged in reply, but it was probably the best they could hope for given his mood.

 

The rest of the meeting was relatively uneventful, save for a few snippy comments here and there between Winston and Louis. When they were all packing up just after midnight, Sophia made sure to stall in stowing her computer and papers, knowing that Louis would wait for her. The rest of the room cleared out quickly and efficiently, and then it was just the two of them.

 

The moment the door clicked closed behind Corden as he bid them goodbye, Sophia rounded on Louis. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

 

Louis rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Soph.”

 

She raised a brow. “I have a PhD, Louis. I’m not an idiot. And beyond that, I’ve known you most of your professional life. Give me a bit of credit. I know when something is going on with you.”

 

“I’ve been late a few times to a few meetings. Big deal. Everyone does it.”

 

“Not you. You’ve always been the type to be ten minutes early to everything. And God forbid you did show up late, you’d never make that mistake twice in a row. This is what...eight, nine times now? At least that I can remember. Why were you late tonight?”

 

“Office hours.” Sophia knew he was lying. _Louis_ knew Sophia knew he was lying. And they didn’t lie to one another. It only made Sophia more concerned.

 

“Oh? And you conduct those in the showers now? Your hair was wet at the start of the meeting and you reeked of Old Spice.”

 

“Okay, so I grabbed a shower after I was done with office hours. Wanted to freshen up before the meeting,” Louis replied, brushing his fingers through his messy, air-dried fringe.

 

“Which recruit were you with?” Sophia asked pointedly, tapping her toe.

 

Louis hesitated, and in that moment of pause, Sophia already knew.

 

“Louis,” she said softly.

 

“No. Don’t start, Soph. We’ve talked about this. It’s nothing.”

 

“Maybe it was when we last hedged this topic, but it’s pretty damn clear that things have changed.” Sophia stepped forward, putting her hand against Louis’ scruffy cheek. “You won’t be able to convince yourself otherwise for much longer. You may have yourself fooled right now, but this is _not_ nothing. You wouldn’t be risking so much if it was. You know what’s going to come of this if it keeps up. Are you ready for that?”

 

Louis sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, leaning his face ever so gently into Sophia’s palm.

 

“Just be careful,” Sophia told him. “There are a lot of eyes on him right now. On you too. If I can tell things have changed, I can’t be the only one. You and Winston are at eachother’s throats whenever there’s any mention of his name in meetings. You’re going easier on him in class. The pair of you are suspiciously MIA at the same time. He’s beating you on a consistent basis on hops.”

 

“No. That’s all him,” Louis interrupted, voice firm. “He’s earned that. Don’t you dare take that away from him.”

 

“I wasn’t saying you’re _letting_ him win. I’m saying he’s figured you out. It takes more than just a few measly hops in a plane to do that. You’re not the easiest nut to crack, love. But somehow Sparrow seems to have found a way through your shell.”

 

“He won’t like what he’s going to find when he gets under that _‘shell’_ of mine,” Louis said quietly, pulling his face away from Sophia’s touch and turning away from her.

 

“Then you best reinforce your defenses, darling. Or prepare to retreat.”

 

“I don’t know if I can anymore,” he told her, voice wavering.

 

“Then you’ve got to figure a way to get this under control. I’m not saying I’m not happy for you,” Sophia said. “I’m just trying to look out for you. This is not going to be easy.”

 

“I know that. I’ve always known that.”

 

“One more question before we close this discussion. Is he worth it?” Sophia asked delicately.

 

Louis looked up at the ceiling. “He’s worth more than I’m probably able to give.”

 

Sophia dared to reach out again. She rested her hands against his shoulders, soothing the tension there with gentle hands. “You’ve got a lot more to offer than you know. Have some faith that he’ll be able to see that when all is said and done. But for the meantime, you really need to get a better handle on this. That starts with owning up to your feelings, as scary as they may be.”

 

Louis hung his head, shoulders heaving under Sophia’s hands with the depth of his breath. “I know.”

 

Sophia pressed a quick kiss to the back of his shaggy haired head. “Alright, love. Shall we go?”

 

Louis nodded, following her out into the hallway and back to the instructors’ quarters. On the way, they passed Winston, waiting outside Captain Cowell’s office. Sophia had to fight a chuckle at the sneer Winston sent Louis’ direction. Louis, for all his maturity, grinned right back at Winston, even gracing him with a cheeky wink.

 

“Commander Winston, what can I do for you?” Captain Cowell said as he stepped through his doorway, interrupting the little stare down. Sophia and Louis nodded to Captain Cowell before they passed him and Winston.

 

Behind them, Sophia heard Winston say, “I’ve got a few matters I want to bring to your attention, Captain,” before the door to the Captain’s office snapped shut.

 

Sophia sighed. “Must you goad Winston at every opportunity? I’d like to go to bed one night after a meeting without a raging headache.”

 

“I wouldn’t need to if he wasn’t such a tosser,” Louis huffed. “It’s my God-given duty to put him in his place. He’s always been a wanker. Even in flight school. Never liked being second best.”

 

Sophia snorted. “I know someone else who has a pretty big problem finishing second.”

 

Louis shrugged. “At least I have a bit of dignity when I lose, as long as it’s to a worthy opponent.”

 

“Especially when that same opponent lets you finish first in non aviation related activities,” Sophia added with a smirk.

 

Louis gasped, drawing a dramatic hand up to his chest in outrage. “Sophia Smith! How crass. Talking like a filthy Limey now, are we? What happened to that fancy PhD you always brag about?”

 

“Just calling it like I see it,” Sophia said. She tugged on Louis’ collar, exposing one of the love bites that Louis had been trying to hide of late. Twice already this week Sophia had slipped him her tube of concealer before a meeting when one was too obvious, paired with a knowing look. “Like I said, you’re not as slick as you think you are, darling.”

 

“I thought we agreed that topic of discussion was closed?” Louis shot back, yanking his collar back up. “Now how about we stop at the mess hall for a cuppa before bed? I need some Yorkshire to help put me to sleep. Otherwise I’ll have nightmares after having to look at Winston’s ugly mug for the past two hours.”

 

“Yes. I daresay you much prefer dreams of the wet variety.”

 

Louis pouted, only causing Sophia to giggle more. Louis nudged her with his hip, “You’re lucky you’ve got brains, love, because if you were just a pilot like the rest of us blockheads, you’d have to pay for all that attitude.”

 

“I already have to pay for it by being your friend. Such a sacrifice, but you wouldn’t know what to do without me, so I endure.”

 

“Oh and she’s got jokes too. You’ve just got everything, don’t you?”

 

“You could too if you remove your head from the depths of your bum long enough to see the light. Trust me on that, Louis,” Sophia said, tone a bit more heartfelt than it had just been.

 

Louis didn’t say anything, but he did wrap his arm over her shoulder and pull her into his side, so she figured he was at least considering her words. For a conversation with the infamously stubborn Louis Tomlinson, that was a definite victory.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Harry was at an all time high by Saturday afternoon. His flying was unstoppable, and he and Niall were winning nearly every hop, raking in the points and pulling away from Liam and Zayn with a nice, comfortable margin that only grew as the days went on.

 

Everything in Harry’s world was just about perfect. In fact, right now things couldn’t really get any better with Harry’s flight suit gaping open at the front and Louis’ wicked tongue lathing over the sensitive crease where his thigh met groin. Louis looked up at Harry from his knees, smirking before attacking his tender flesh again.

 

Harry slammed his head back against the wall, causing their helmets on the shelf above him to rattle. One of the biggest lessons Harry had learned in week four was that he worked very well with positive reinforcement. Unfortunately, he also learned that Louis had a very funny way of giving said praise. He wasn’t too keen on the verbal type. He was much more fond of the physical kind. Harry certainly wasn’t going to complain, especially not when Louis slid his hot mouth over the tip of Harry’s cock, tongue flicking over the head.

 

He pulled off before he could take Harry down, ripping a muffled groan of agony from Harry’s chest. He stayed close to Harry’s crotch, breath puffing out against the wet flesh and nuzzling his grizzly scruff against Harry’s soft skin. Flying with beard burn on his thighs was a new experience that Harry wasn’t quite sure whether he loved or loathed.

 

“Shouldn’t even be doing this,” Louis panted, voice deep and wrecked. “Took you a whole bloody half hour to get Banshee this morning. Pitiful. If you’re a pigeon, Banshee’s a fuckin’ penguin. You can do better, Hazza. Until you do, I’m not sure you deserve this.”

 

Harry reached out for the back of Louis’ head, desperate to keep him from pulling away, but his hand was unceremoniously smacked aside. Louis did lean forward on his own, but only to nip at Harry’s thigh. Harry yelped and Louis slapped the same thigh, right over the teeth marks, in warning to keep it down.

 

“I suppose you did win against me this afternoon, though. And I didn’t specify time frame when I made you this promise. I won’t make that mistake again, though. You’re going to have to work harder if you want to be the best. If you want me.”

 

Harry would be willing to barter his fucking _soul_ to get Louis’ mouth back on him by this point.

 

Harry opened his mouth to choke out a, “please,” but it wasn’t needed. Louis swallowed him down and Harry saw stars. Harry’s mind was idling on an unintelligible string of words that pretty much encompassed, _hot, wet, tight, more_. When Louis’ nose pressed against Harry’s groin, Harry lost even those few words.

 

Voices could be heard just on the other side of the door and Louis instantly shot up and pressed his free hand against Harry’s mouth, muffling his moans. With his other hand, he continued to work Harry's spit slick length in a quick rhythm.

 

“Jesus. We’ve got to hurry up. Come on already,” Louis hissed against Harry’s ear, eyes on the door to the equipment room in which they were currently barricaded.

 

“Trust me…I’m about to,” Harry mumbled under Louis' palm. It earned him a twist of his nipple and a pinch to his already bruised thigh.

 

The voice of Harry’s commanding officer right outside the door should have made Harry’s erection completely wilt. Instead, it did the opposite. Harry nipped at Louis’ hand covering his mouth. Louis glared back at him, squeezing his other hand tighter and making Harry grunt.

 

“Have you seen Commander Tomlinson?” Captain Cowell asked, on the other side of the door. Louis nipped at the space between Harry’s collarbones again over the same spot he was always trying to mark. Harry’s eyes crossed in their sockets in his effort to stay quiet.

 

“No, Sir. I haven’t seen him since he went below deck after the hop,” another unidentifiable voice answered.

 

“Hm," Captain Cowell mused. "He's been MIA quite a bit lately. Anyway, I’ve got very urgent matters to discuss with him. If you see him, do tell him that he needs to stop by my office before he starts his next class. That's an order.”

 

“Affirmative, Captain.”

 

“By the way, did you happen to see how Lt. Styles fared against him this afternoon? I've been watching that pairing closely.”

 

“I believe Sparrow took him down, Sir.”

 

“I’ll say,” Louis whispered against Harry’s ear. Harry shuddered thinking of how he’d just been on his knees not even five minutes ago. Louis’ cock was still out, for Christ’s sake. Harry could still taste him on his tongue.

 

Louis increased his pace while the Captain and his subservient driveled on about fuck knows what. Louis' hand ran a furious race to the finish line as he worked Harry over. The relentless pace had Harry firing off so hot and fast he wondered if there would be steam coming off of him after he was done. Thankfully at the last second, Louis had seared his mouth to Harry's to keep him from announcing to the entire carrier at the top of his lungs that Louis Tomlinson was the Commander of cock teasing. When it was deemed safe for Harry to have control of his mouth again, Louis dared to remove his own mouth in favor of putting it to better use. Harry couldn’t even find the energy to protest when Louis dropped back down to his knees and proceeded to clean Harry off. He just whimpered and shook against the wall at the gentle kitten licks to his softening and oversensitive length.

 

Quick changes were a well practiced dance by now, and with the hum of voices in the background, they sought to making themselves semi-presentable again. Harry handed Louis back his aviators from where they had been lodged in his wild mane of curls to keep the hair off his face after Louis had whined about wanting an uninterrupted view when Harry had been going down on him. Louis zipped up the front of his flight suit as Harry grabbed his green painted helmet from the top shelf where he had carelessly thrown it. Louis went to grab for his own that had been next to Harry’s, but Harry beat him to it. He reached right over Louis’ extended arm and snagged the vivid blue helmet with the name ROGUE written in simple, white letters.

 

“Show off,” Louis scolded, but the words held no heat as he took the helmet from Harry's hand.

 

Harry straightened his spine to use every extra inch he had on Louis, looking down his nose at him. He loved the way Louis’ head had to tilt back just slightly to keep him in eye line.

 

They stood there watching each other for a moment, neither speaking. The seconds ticked steadily away, and Harry reached up to nervously fiddle with his dog tags, only to remember they weren't currently there. They were in Louis' pocket.

 

"It's a surprise Sparrow's in the lead." Harry tuned back into the conversation on the other side of the door now that he wasn't so foggy from the post-orgasm haze. His ears perked up when he heard his own name was still the subject. "In the control room this morning, I overheard a few of the 1D instructors talking about him. Quite a bit of heated debate going on."

 

Captain Cowell hummed. "Yes. I'm aware. Styles was a bit of a loose cannon at first. There have been reservations from some parties. Fortunately, he's seemed to prove them wrong thus far, but we've still got a ways to go in this program. He'll have to keep his recent trend up. He's got potential. If he can stay focused."

 

Harry frowned at the tone of the Captain's voice. It was...skeptical. As if he didn't really believe that Harry could manage it. It made him bristle, knowing that there was talk going on about him behind his back. It made him want to get in a plane right this second and prove just what a healthy dose of focus could accomplish. He gripped his flight helmet tighter with itching fingers. The top spot on the leaderboard was his after all. He'd fought tooth and fucking nail for it. Harry figured that warranted a bit of respect...not bloody _surprise_.

 

"Well, I guess it helps when you've got blood on your side. Wasn't his father a pilot? Styles, right? _The_ Captain Styles?"

 

And now came the comparisons. That wasn't surprising.

 

"Yes. He's Hawk's son. And Eagle's grandson. The Styles family has produced some of the Royal Navy's finest aviators. A lot of times with legacy pilots, especially with the type of pedigree Sparrow has, we see a hot-shot renegade who rides on their family name for status with little accomplishment of their own. Sparrow would do well to avoid that pitfall, and it's our job as his instructors to keep pushing him regardless of our personal feelings about his family. True tragedy that Captain Styles' talent was so senselessly lost, but if we don't train his son right, he'll suffer the same fate."

 

The voices drifted farther down the hallway, and then Harry was alone with the aching memories of his dad again...well, not alone. Harry looked to Louis, but Louis was looking down at his own hand. The chain of Harry's dog tags was tangled between his fingers, tags flat in his palm. The silence between them lasted far too long as Louis traced over Harry's name on the metal.

 

"Lou?” Harry asked, not wanting to break the silence, but knowing their time was up. It always went too fast.

 

Louis seemed to be lost for a moment. Harry watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed under the thick layer of stubble, eyes unreadable. He reached a single finger out to place under Louis’ chin, lifting it gently so that Louis’ gaze was back on him again.

 

“You okay?” Harry asked tentatively, dropping his hand. All previous concern over himself and the carrier gossip mill was gone. Harry was much more concerned with what was going on in front of him.

 

Louis still didn’t look right, but Harry could tell he was trying to hide it. This was something else Harry had picked up on during the span of week four. Sometimes after their time together, Louis would get like this. He would be far away for a few moments, untouchable, eyes seeing something other than what was in front of him. Harry wanted to ask, but he also didn’t want to disrupt this delicate balance they had found in such impossible circumstances. There was no reason to complicate things yet. They were enjoying one another, learning one another - physically at least - and the rest? It would get a whole lot easier once Harry was no longer Louis’ direct charge. If that was what bothered Louis sometimes and caused this unprecedented distance, Harry figured it would no longer be of concern once Harry walked the stage at graduation in a few weeks time. Then they would be comrades, colleagues, equals…and hopefully a lot more.

 

“Yeah,” Louis managed, voice hoarse and barely louder than a whisper. He cleared his throat and shook his head once to flick his messy fringe from his eyes. “I’m peachy."

 

Harry grinned at him, taking any opportunity to lighten the mood. “I’d have to agree with that.” He snuck a hand around to pinch at Louis’ pert bum. Louis whacked at his hand, flinching to the side. But his smile was back in place, even if the usual twinkle in his eye wasn't quite matching. At least he was back in the moment now.

 

"Says the one with all the lovely bruises," Louis said, reaching out and gently looping the chain over Harry's head, settling the tags against his chest to cover the most prominent of his marks. Harry smirked knowing he wasn’t the only one with marks. Harry was quite proud of the few he’d managed to put on Louis too.

 

Harry didn’t have an opportunity to add to that collection, though, because clearly their stolen time was up. Louis took a step away from Harry, closer to the door. “I’ll see you tonight? Midnight at our usual spot?”

 

Harry wasn't sure what to make of the fact that their routine was suddenly posed as a question instead of fact, but he answered none the less. “I look forward to the new myriad of blemishes to my complexion,” Harry told him fondly, brushing his fingers over the lip-shaped bruise under his dog tags. "But for now, you'd better go. Seems you have ' _urgent matters_ ' to attend to with the Captain."

 

Louis nodded sharply and turned to leave, but he paused a moment before making his exit. He didn't turn back around, but Harry still heard him when he said, "For the record, it's not a surprise."

 

Harry was left in the equipment room staring stupidly at the door for a good ten minutes wondering what the legendary Captain Styles would say about his son falling for a damned fly boy.

 

" _It's not a surprise,_ " his dad had said when Harry first told him he'd enlisted in the Navy and wanted nothing more than to be a pilot like his father and his grandfather before him. He was in love with the promise of the sky, just as much as they had been. " _You've always fallen for the things that will break your heart_."

 

Later that Saturday night, when Harry made his way down to the hangar bay just before midnight, Louis was nowhere to be found. Harry stood with his back resting against Diana's wing and waited for a solid hour, but the only company that showed up was a stray cockroach that skittered across the floor in search of a safe place to stowaway.

 

When Harry was back in his bed after rather dejectedly deciding that Louis wasn't going to make an appearance, one unsettling thought kept playing in his mind as he tried to find sleep.

 

Maybe his dad had been right.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Captain Cowell sat in his temporary office aboard the HMS Elizabeth on Saturday afternoon, dark eyes flicking up to the clock on the wall as he tapped impatiently on the grainy wood of his desk. He was not used to being kept waiting, especially not by someone whose rank was below his own. The more time that passed, the more sure he was that recent concerns needed to be addressed.

 

A few minutes later, a quick rap sounded on his door, to which he called for entrance. Commander Tomlinson was quick to rush through the door, hair unkempt and flight suit askew, as had oddly become the norm the past week since coming aboard the carrier. Something else to add to the list.

 

"I was given word you wanted to see me, Sir?" Tomlinson asked, out of breath and flushed. He stood at attention in front of the desk, waiting to be addressed.

 

"At ease, Commander. Please take a seat," Captain Cowell said, gesturing to the solitary chair on the other side of his desk with a raised eyebrow. "And catch your breath."

 

"Sorry. Just finished with Lt. Styles. Hops always get the adrenaline going, I'm afraid. And these damned flight suits are a furnace." Tomlinson wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. He tugged uncomfortably at the neck of his suit, where more sweat was glistening along with what looked to be...bruises? Captain Cowell squinted his eyes to see better, but the collar of the suit was quickly tugged back into place. "I would have stopped for a shower first, but I did hear it was urgent."

 

"Quite alright. This shouldn't take long. And I wouldn't have been pleased to be kept waiting any longer as my schedule today is unfortunately quite full due to the situation we've been monitoring. I wanted to inform you that I’ll be needed back ashore again tomorrow night through Monday morning."

 

"Oh. As squadron leader, I assure you that I will keep things running smoothly in your absence."

 

Captain Cowell raised his hand. "No need. I'm leaving Commander Corden in charge this time. Last time the recruits had time off under your care, one of them ended up at the base infirmary with a head injury. Sustained during an unsanctioned football match, if I'm correct. And just after you gave him a black eye in a training accident, no less. Thank God Lt. Malik’s injuries were only minor and that he was not held from flight duty, but still I'm afraid we can't afford any more incidents so close to the end of the program. We'll need all our pilots at full function when they cross our stage at graduation. Now more than ever. No offense to you, but I'd be more comfortable with someone more removed in charge."

 

"Removed," Tomlinson said, tone flat.

 

"Yes. Someone who the recruits look to as an authority."

 

Tomlinson looked as if he were about to argue, but he made the intelligent decision to refrain. Instead he said, "It's your decision in the end, Sir. If that's all, I really do have things I need..."

 

Captain Cowell cut Tomlinson off before he could finish his sentence. "There is another matter I feel we need to discuss before you leave."

 

Tomlinson clenched his jaw, the only outward sign of irritation. "Which is?"

 

"Your hop against Lt. Styles this afternoon. Our resident dark horse. The soon to be next name on our trophy if things keep going as they have been."

 

Tomlinson nodded once. "He's on a hot streak. Points just keep adding up."

 

"Yes. Many of which have been at your expense. Interesting, that."

 

Tomlinson's casual posture instantly stiffened. He sat forward in his seat, eyes narrowed. "Interesting how?" he asked, barely concealing the edge to his voice.

 

Captain Cowell mirrored his position, leaning over his desk with his shoulders straining against his pristine working uniform. The wide array of pins and emblems on his left breast pocket dug into his chest, reminding him who was in charge here. He steepled his fingers and pressed them to his chin.

 

"I think it's time you and I had a little chat about the instruction of young Lt. Styles."

 

Ten minutes later, Tomlinson stood up from the chair, face blank and jaw tight.

 

Captain Cowell sat back in his seat. “Lt. Styles is a pilot with tremendous potential and value to this country. Flies just like his old man. Might even be better. That’s why we can’t afford to get this wrong...why _you_ can’t afford to get this wrong.”

 

"Trust me, I understand his worth. I’m just not sure I like that _my_ worth to this program is suddenly taken into question. If you're finished, I have more important matters that need my attention."

 

"Yes, I’m sure you do," Captain Cowell told him, choosing not to acknowledge the insubordination dripping from Tomlinson's every word even though it was very much noted. Tomlinson turned to leave, but Captain Cowell added, "Oh and Louis? I may be one man, but I have more than one pair of eyes. Very little goes on in this program of which I am unaware. Keep that in mind. And do fix your collar before you depart. Wouldn't want anyone thinking you to be unprofessional, especially when you're so close to being promoted to full Commander status. Dismissed."

 

Captain Cowell watched his young protege march from his office, clearly not pleased by the direction of their conversation. Tomlinson had all the makings of a true legend. He had been one of the most revered young pilots of recent times, trained by the absolute best. His problem was, and had always been, his attitude. And if it wasn't dealt with swiftly, that attitude would affect the product of this illustrious program that Captain Cowell prided himself on heading. Tomlinson was like a rabid dog off his chain, but there were always ways to bring rogues to heel.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

To say that things went rogue as week four came to a close on Sunday would be a gross understatement - and quite a clever pun, if Harry was in any mood for jokes.

 

It wasn’t that Harry had gone off the rails exactly. In fact, he was performing the best he’d ever done in a plane, and his confidence was soaring as high as his jet. The real problem laid in what happened when he wasn’t 10,000 metres up in the sky. Things at sea level were much more difficult to navigate than they were at higher altitudes. Perspective required distance, and Harry found it damn near impossible to get enough of it when his every cell was consumed by the irrational and insatiable need to be in close orbit of Louis Tomlinson.

 

It was hard to see clearly when so much had changed in such a short period of time. Harry felt like he and Louis had been shot into this affair like they’d been launched by a Cat. The abrupt transition left Harry dizzy, the way he felt sometimes during takeoff when Georgia Rose rocketed off the back of the carrier and left him gasping and seeing spots for a moment. One minute they were saluting one another and the next they were sucking each other’s faces off. There had really been no middle ground or time to think. They just did. That strategy - or lack thereof - might work well in a dogfight, but it wasn’t so great when it came to building anything stable with another human being. Harry was pretty certain that making important life decisions at Mach 2 with his hair on fire was probably not the best way to figure out just what to do about his rogue heart.

 

All of this was only complicated by the fact that since yesterday’s encounter in the equipment room, Louis had all but gone ghost on Harry, only adding to his general sense of disorientation. Harry would be inclined to brush it off as reading too much into nothing if it wasn't for the fact that Louis was so actively avoiding him. Each time Harry tried to track him down, Louis would give him the slip. When they passed one another in the hallway, where before Louis would shoot him a sly wink, now he didn't even make eye contact. There were no secret notes or meet-ups, no carefully casual brushes of the hand in passing, no subtle innuendos over the radio on hops. Harry hadn't even had the opportunity to talk to him about why he had stood Harry up last night because Louis was simply not speaking to him. Louis had been a staple in Harry's life the past few weeks - if not physically then at least mentally - and the sudden departure without any explanation made Harry uneasy. Harry was starting to feel like things in his life were approaching critical mass, and he was starting to worry that the only end to this tension would be an explosion that would lay waste to anything in its vicinity.

 

That was why Harry wasn’t really surprised in the least bit when that breaking point came late that afternoon when Lizzie was idling in friendly waters just off the coast of Germany.

 

The 1D recruits were sitting in the cramped lecture room for another of Commander Tomlinson’s dreaded Sunday aerodynamics classes. It was their last obligation before they had a half day of rest on Monday, thanks to more classified affairs that would pull the Captain, Banshee and Steele away from the carrier and back ashore. Harry was determined to use his precious time off from duties breaking this puzzling little standoff between he and Louis, followed by spending whatever time was left trying to bring Louis to as many orgasms as physically possible in recompense for all the ones he'd missed the past twenty four hours. Harry could practically taste Louis in his mouth already, a sensory memory that was only strengthened by watching the object of his lust pace the front of the classroom like a caged animal.

 

Louis, it seemed, was just as desperate for this day to end as Harry. Although Louis’ turbulent energy might also have something to do with the fact that Captain Cowell was sitting in the back of the classroom observing today’s lecture, as Louis' eyes kept glancing back to where his superior was watching with pursed lips and drawn brows. Harry wondered at the Captain's sudden interest in class attendance, something that hadn’t happened all program thus far. Maybe he was just evaluating Louis' performance, as was probably standard for a new instructor. That seemed fair enough, and an equally logical explanation for why Louis seemed so tightly wound and preoccupied lately. Harry just wished that Louis had told him about it. He didn't like this confusion, and liked the distance even less.

 

Whatever the reason, Louis was clearly agitated about something, that much Harry could easily tell. He was practically wearing trenches in the floor from his feet shuffling over it as he discussed the finer points of some trivial topic Harry couldn’t be arsed to give attention to when the arse in front of him was so much more fascinating. He couldn't help it. An entire day without being able to get his hands on Louis had all but destroyed Harry's self restraint. Back and forth, Harry’s eyes followed Louis from one side of the room to the other. While Louis spoke, Harry watched the fabric of his trousers pull against his sturdy legs, watched the way his delicate hand swept at the perspiration on his brow, watched the way his mouth moved around his words. Harry was watching everything, but unfortunately that meant that he wasn’t exactly _listening_ to everything Louis was saying.

 

“Lieutenant Styles? What’s your opinion on the matter?” Louis asked, coming to rest in front of Harry’s desk.

 

Harry’s gaze shot up from Louis’ arse to his face, eyes wide and flustered, equally due to having been caught in his stupor and having Louis' attention suddenly on him again. Louis’ eyebrows were raised expectantly as everyone waited for Harry’s response. But Harry didn’t have one. He didn’t even know what the bloody topic was, but it probably wasn’t anything having to do with how much Harry wanted to grab two fistfuls of Louis’ bum and pull him into his lap.

 

“Um. Well…” Harry started, trying desperately to pick out even a single word from the past ten minutes to figure out what about he was meant to be forming an opinion.

 

Louis turned fully toward Harry, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. The uncomfortable silence in the room was ringing in Harry’s ears, making it that much harder for him to find words. It was certainly not uncharacteristic behavior for Louis to pester Harry with questions during class, even if lately he hadn’t been quite as grilling. What _was_ out of the ordinary was Harry's sudden inability to speak.

 

“…I’m…I think…”

 

Louis took a step closer, bending at the waist to lean against Harry’s desk. His palms were flat on the table, fingers spread wide only inches from where Harry’s hands were resting. His face was so close that Harry could feel his breath against his cheeks, hot puffs of air that raised the hair on the back of Harry’s neck. It certainly wasn't helping Harry focus.

 

“Do go on. We’re all waiting with bated breath,” Louis snapped. His words were vitriolic, but his eyes were desperate. Their message was clear.

 

_You need to fucking say something. Now._

 

Harry’s heart went full on abort mode, sympathetic system in overdrive. He watched the swing of Louis’ dog tags as they hovered in front of his face, closing his fist around his own anxiously.

 

“Uhh. I wasn’t…I…I don’t know.”

 

It was the first time in Harry’s entire life he didn’t have an answer. He prided himself on his work ethic, on his determination and dedication. He didn’t do things like this. Not when it came to his professional life. The shame engulfed him, white hot and searing, but not quite as blistering as the look Louis was giving him.

 

“And why is it that you don’t have the answer, Lieutenant?”

 

Harry hung his head, unable to meet Louis’ eyes. “I was…distracted.”

 

Louis’ eyes darted up to the back of the classroom for a brief moment, and then they were back on Harry, even more stormy than before. Harry knew what was coming…he knew what he deserved.

 

“Not only have you let me down, you’ve let your squadron down. This may be a classroom. And hops? Those may just be training exercises. But in two weeks, it’s going to be real. You won’t have the luxury of being distracted or claiming ignorance. You’ll be expected to _know_. You’ll be expected to _fight_. And if your head isn’t entirely in that moment, I can personally guarantee that you’re not going to survive.”

 

This was the very thing Harry had sworn he wouldn’t let happen. And now it was happening. It was making him sick to his stomach. The words Captain Cowell had said in the hallway just yesterday were still a fresh echo in his mind. Focus. Harry had lost his focus. And this was what happened.

 

Louis kept watching him, and Harry shrunk down into himself with each endless moment. Harry knew that Louis was still waiting for him to say something, but he couldn't really think straight when Louis was looking at him with such massive disappointment.

 

“I’m sorry, Lou,” Harry mumbled.

 

As soon as it was out of his mouth, Harry knew just how big a mistake it was. The room went deathly silent again. Even Niall, sat at Harry’s side, was eerily quiet. And everyone’s eyes were boring into Harry.

 

Louis stood up from Harry’s desk, so slowly Harry thought it must be some type of camera trick in a movie. But no, this was definitely real life, and Harry was definitely fucked now. When Harry finally dared to look up at Louis, his eyes were blazing…and not with the kind of fire that Harry was used to seeing there. Just as foreign was the panic beneath the anger.

 

“I don’t know where you get off, but leading the competition right now does not give you permission to disrespect a superior. You will address me by my earned title. You will not address me so informally. Until you learn to respect your place and take this seriously, get the hell out of my class.” Louis wasn’t yelling or screaming, but that didn’t stop his message from carrying its intended weight. Louis paused, eyes flicking to the back of the class again. When he delivered his parting shot, his eyes still hadn’t returned to Harry. “Your surname won't win you points here any longer, Styles."

 

It wasn’t the words. Harry had heard them before, and he would hear them again. It was the fact they were coming from Louis that really sliced the deepest. Louis knew. Harry had told him about his father and how he’d been fighting his entire career to prove himself as his own man. And now, in front of this entire room full of peers and superiors whose approval Harry wanted more desperately than anything, he was back in his father’s shadow. The lesser Styles.

 

When Louis made it clear that he wasn’t going to twist the knife embedded in Harry’s chest any further, Harry rose from his seat and pushed back from the desk. Without a word or another look in Louis’ direction, he collected his materials, shoving papers haphazardly into his notebook, and hurried down the center aisle and right from the room. His cheeks were hot and flushed with a mix of shame and anger as everyone watched him take his leave like an unwanted dog with its tail between its legs.

 

The second he was clear of the room, he fled. He stumbled through the hallways as fast as he could, weaving through the corridors until he was as far away from the classroom as he could possibly get. The equipment room was stuffy and cramped, but it would have to suffice as a hideout, because as much as Harry wanted to, there was no getting off this ship.

 

He sank down to the bench and let his head fall forward until it was resting in his hands, elbows propped against his knees. His breath came out in erratic pants that Harry had no hope of controlling. It only made him think about the last time he’d been in here, pressed up against Louis, equally breathless with his moan muffled by the palm over his mouth. Harry squeezed his eyes tight and willed the image away. That was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. While he focused on trying to regulate his breathing, he came to a few important decisions.

 

It took a good half hour until Louis managed to track him down. Harry knew he would have to face him at some point. At least this time Harry had something to say.

 

“How dare you.”

 

Louis’ jaw clenched at Harry’s opening line. “Please, just…” Louis began, holding up a tentative hand, but Harry stood up from the bench, effectively cutting him off.

 

Harry paced the room with his fists clenched at his sides, refusing to meet Louis’ eyes. “No. I know I fucked up. I get it. What happened in class was inexcusable, and you can be damn sure it won't happen again. I promised I would keep things between us quiet, and today I nearly gave it all away. I know the consequences for you, but believe me, they're going to be worse for me if anyone finds out. My whole future is on the line here…my fucking career. I've worked so hard, Louis. I've given everything to make this happen, and if everyone didn't already think I’m only getting my shot because my father got a rotten deal and I’m the consolation, they certainly will now. You didn't have to go there. I know you needed to pull your rank in there, but you didn't have to fucking play _that_ card.”

 

“I said what had to be said, but that doesn’t mean I believe it,” Louis started uneasily, fingers rubbing at his shadowed eyes. “I meant no disrespect to your father. He was…”

 

“No!” Harry shouted, breaths unsteady again. “You’re not the one who lost him. You’re not the one everyone compares to him. You’re not the one who always falls short. You don’t get to fucking talk to me about my father when you never knew him!”

 

Harry expected a fight. In fact, he really _wanted_ this particular fight. It was always the same. Harry versus the shadow of his father’s legacy. He’d been battling the same tired war his entire career.

 

What Harry got instead of the fight he wanted was Louis’ entire frame crumpling in on itself like a Las Vegas casino being imploded. Louis grabbed two fistfuls of his quiff and groaned, eyes clenched tightly shut.

 

“You don’t understand,” Louis began. “You have no idea how complicated this is. If you would just let me explain…”

 

“I don’t want your fucking explanation,” Harry spat out without hesitation.

 

Louis’ flashing blue eyes locked on Harry, wide with surprise. “What do you want then?”

 

“From you? Not a God-damned thing. I want to get through the rest of this program, graduate as a 1D pilot, and take an assignment as far away from England as I can fucking manage. That's what I've always wanted. Nothing has changed that. Certainly not a few quick shags to pass the time.”

 

The lie was so bitter that it burned Harry's throat, but he would not take it back. Louis deserved to feel a bit of pain after what he'd said in the classroom. Turnabout was fair play.

 

Louis' mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally settled on his words. His eyes shifted back and forth nervously, never staying on Harry for long. "That's...that’s not what this is. It would be a lot easier if it was."

 

Harry was absolutely outraged. "Bullshit,” he hissed, slamming a hand at the wall, rattling all the helmets on the shelf. “How was I meant to know that when you're always dancing around my questions? Don't think I haven't noticed. I may talk slow, but I'm not stupid."

 

A little bit of that fire Harry wanted crackled in Louis' eyes. "I know you're not stupid. That's the fucking problem."

 

"No. The fucking problem here is that we let things get this out of control. But thankfully it's not too late to fix that mistake. I'm sorry if your feelings got involved, but I think it's for the best if we just...stop."

 

Louis took a step closer to him. "So you're just walking away? Giving up? Nice to know where your priorities lie. Self preservation at its finest."

 

"Kind of a necessary in our line of work."

 

"That’s shit," Louis barked. "What about trust and commitment? Aren't those part of the Navy doctrine as well?"

 

"You want to talk about trust? Alright. I trusted you with personal information about my family just to have it publicly thrown back in my face. And commitment? Guess you've forgotten about that one too given the fact you've all but forgotten my existence in the blink of an eye. You stand me up last night and totally ignore me today without any explanation, and then have the nerve to say I'm the one without commitment?"

 

"I’m _trying_ to explain if you would just calm down and listen. Yesterday, after we..."

 

Harry pushed by him, headed for the door. He didn't want to give Louis a chance to pacify him with some half-assed excuse. He didn't want to get roped back in. He'd made up his mind. This wasn't a good idea. Harry should have known that from the start, but at least he was figuring it out now. Damage had already be done, but it wasn't beyond repair yet. Hopefully.

 

"Hey! Don't walk away from me!" Louis snapped from behind him.

 

Harry wheeled around. "Is that an order, Commander Tomlinson? Because unless it is, you can fuck off."

 

"Fine. Go ahead then. But if all you want from me is to be your instructor, then at least let me give you one last lesson. You can’t out run your past. You can’t deny who you are or what you’ve done. Trust me, I’ve tried. It always comes back around. In the end, you always have to face your demons. What do you think I’m doing here?”

 

"I don't really care what you're doing here. It's got nothing to do with me. I'll see you in class, Commander."

 

Harry shoved through the door and stalked down the hallway, not even bothering to see if Louis followed. He made it as far as the ready room before he had to face another familiar face. Unfortunately, that face was Niall's. And Niall could read him as easily as a picture book.

 

"Well shit," was all Niall said.

 

"Yea. Shit's about right," Harry muttered.

 

Niall reached out for Harry's shoulder, pulling him in for a hug. No one hugged like Niall did. Harry always felt better after one of Niall's bear hugs, even though Niall was much smaller and his arms always struggled to encompass all of Harry's broader frame. It wasn't quite hitting the mark today, though. Today it just felt...lacking. Probably because Harry was so used to someone else's arms of late.

 

Harry dropped his head to Niall's shoulder and let himself be held anyway. Niall hummed in his ear and patted his back soothingly. "If it's any consolation, he looked pretty wrecked the last bit of class after you left. A right mess. Buzzed outta class pretty quick when it ended too. Nearly knocked the Captain over on his way. Figured he was probably looking for you."

 

"He found me."

 

Niall nodded, not asking how the conversation went. Harry figured it was pretty evident.

 

"Do you think anyone knows? Do you think they figured it out?" Harry asked. That was really the most important thing to know. None of the rest mattered anymore.

 

Niall shook his head. "Nah. Just me. Based on the gossip after class, everyone just thinks you had a bad day and that Tomlinson went off on you like usual. But what he said about your family name was shit. That wasn't right. He's earned himself a nice painted penis on the side of his plane for that, compliments of the Craic. No one insults my pilot 'cept me." Niall thumped himself proudly on the chest. Harry tried to smile, but couldn't quite manage.

 

"I just want to forget about this whole day," Harry sighed. Not exactly accurate. There was far more to forget than just a single day.

 

"Ask and you shall receive, my friend. I've got the perfect solution," Niall said cheerily.

 

"Which is?"

 

"Drinks at the bar."

 

Harry frowned, looking around. "Last I checked, we're floating in the middle of the bloody ocean, Niall. Not many bars around that aren't made of sand."

 

"Too right. But there happens to be plenty of 'em in Germany. Which happens to be only a short helicopter ride away. Hope you packed them 'fuck me' jeans of yours because we and the lads are goin' out tonight! Commander Corden, who might I say is an absolute legend, has agreed to sneak us off the carrier for a night of reckless abandon on foreign soil. Knew I always liked that bloke. Gotta love helo pilots. Much better than jet pilots."

 

"Watch it," Harry scowled.

 

Niall smiled brightly. "Ah! There's my boy. Now hurry up and get ready. Squeeze your arse into those skinny jeans. We're off as soon as the Captain and his flunkies depart."

 

It might not solve anything. In fact, it was probably a really poor idea to get drunk when Harry was already feeling so miserable. But he was desperate for something to take his mind off of how in just twenty four short hours everything had gone from flying-high to roll-over-and-die.

 

An hour later, Harry and the rest of the recruits snuck out onto the flight deck during a crew break in their civilian clothes to board Commander Corden's Sea Stallion. Corden was already strapped in at the controls and ready to go when the recruits squeezed in and buckled up.

 

"Ready for some fun, lads?" Corden asked, flipping up his visor to wink at the recruits. "You boys have earned it. We've been pushing you lot pretty hard lately. Figured this might help let off a little bit of pent up tension. God knows there’s enough of it to go around. If anyone asks, this was a training exercise to show you how rescue missions at sea work. Any of you say different and you can fish yourselves out the drink next time you need a save."

 

"Aye Aye, Commander _Sir_!" Niall hollered, chest puffed up comically with a hand in salute. "We all know better than to get on the bad side of a rotorhead. Now let's go for a spin. I can taste the good ol' German ale already!"

 

"Waiting on two more. Hold your horses, Horan. We'll get you lushed soon enough," Corden answered with a chuckle.

 

No sooner did he say it, the door to the helicopter opened again. Sophia was the first through, dressed much more casually than she usually was for class with her hair down too. The minute Harry caught sight of her shiny dark locks, he knew without doubt who the other was of the pair on which they had been waiting.

 

"Christ, Tomlinson. Took you long enough to fix your quiff. Was about to leave without you," Corden teased.

 

"Well, I'm here now. Didn't even want to come in the first place, but _this_ one black-mailed me," Louis griped, thumbing at Sophia with a surly scowl. "Just get this bird in the air. I need a fucking drink."

 

Corden rolled his eyes at Louis' moody expression before snapping the visor of his helmet back down and turning towards his controls. "You're going to be a bloody pleasure tonight, I see."

 

Harry couldn't look at Louis - who of course was seated next to him because Harry had been last aboard - but he still saw him out of the corner of his eyes. And Harry's stupid heart still flopped arse over tit at the sight of him despite all the seething anger he was still feeling toward him. He was wearing something very similar to what he had worn that first night he had hooked Harry's attention at the pub in Thurso. Fitted jeans cuffed at the ankle over oxfords and a jumper that was just a shade too big on him, leaving sweater paws and a nice view of his sharp collarbones. And of course that bloody quiff. _God_. This was going to be a long night. Harry was wondering at the merits of feigning illness to stay aboard the carrier, but his chance was lost as the helicopter's blades started to twirl.

 

Sophia, seated on Louis' other side, ducked closer to Louis and whispered in his ear before donning her headset. Harry couldn't hear it over the roar of the helicopter's turbine, but whatever it was made Louis glower even more than he already was. Without answering her, Louis yanked on his own headset to drown out both the deafening beating of the blades overhead and any more attempts at conversation.

 

It was a painfully long forty minutes in the air, and in that time, Louis didn't say a single word to Harry despite their close proximity, let alone even look at him. The silence was particularly uneasy when they passed the Roter Sand lighthouse, surrounded on all sides by water, warning of the impending coast line. Harry didn't miss Louis looking out the window at the red and white striped tower, frown only deepening before he leaned his head back in his seat and closed his eyes. His thigh twitched against Harry’s, and it took every bit of Harry’s sanity not to reach out and wrap his hand around its thick width like he’d done so many times already...but would likely never get to do again. It felt like so long ago, that sunset spent together back at Holburn Head. So much had happened since then, so many kisses and touches and moments shared in their condensed time together. But in some ways, Harry felt like he and Louis were even farther apart now than they had been that night, even more lost at sea. Harry had gotten his perspective after all, but it didn’t help illuminate the path to anything in the end.

 

When the helicopter finally touched down on the English base just outside of Hamburg, Harry couldn't take another second strapped in next to Louis. As soon as the turbines stopped spinning, Harry tore his belt off and was first out the door, rudely pushing past everyone else. Niall was quick to follow and linked his arm through Harry's.

 

"Hey. You're fine, mate. Let's just get to the bar, yeah? I'll get the first round of drinks," Niall told him.

 

Harry took a deep breath to compose himself. The more steps he took away from the confines of the helicopter, the more stable he felt. "Since when do you pay for drinks?" he asked Niall, whose shorter legs had to work double time to keep up with Harry's long paces.

 

"Right you are. I just meant that I'd open the tab. Didn't say anything about it being with my credit card."

 

Harry handed over his wallet to Niall, knowing his RIO would just pick-pocket it later anyway. Niall slipped it into his own pocket and then bumped Harry with his hip, throwing off his stride. "Seriously, you okay?"

 

"Will be." Harry figured that was true enough. He just didn't know how long it would take.

 

Under the guidance of Reaper and Wrecker, fresh off their tour in Germany, the group made their way off base to the local drinking establishment frequented by the military type. The large Biergarten just off base had a lot more to offer than the small town pub in Thurso. The music was loud and pounding, the drinks on tap were plenty, and the entire place was crawling with young, attractive patrons. People filled the bar wall to wall, even spilling out onto the outdoor patio, drinks and cigarettes in hand. Even though their group wasn't in uniform - a decision that was probably for the best given they were on foreign soil - it wouldn't be hard to make friends here. When they walked in, eyes were already on them from all corners of the room. Everyone commended Reaper and Wrecker on their choice of bars and settled in for a night of good fun. Everyone except Harry, who planned to find the darkest, most secluded corner of the place and hide himself away with a bottle of the strongest liquor he could get his hands on.

 

Once the first round of drinks had been procured, the majority of the lads peeled off in small packs, most headed toward the main floor to find dancing partners. Niall and Ginger immediately gravitated to the old, out of tune piano in the corner with Zayn and Liam sitting nearby as their audience. Harry looked between all the possible groups he could join, but decided to abscond to the quieter patio instead. He didn't want to deal with anyone tonight, especially since the topic of conversation would likely be what had happened in class today. He just wanted to be alone. He could deal with a little smoke out on the patio if it meant solitude.

 

Harry should have known that the patio would already be occupied by the only other person in their party who would have use for a place where smoking was allowed.

 

“Have you told him yet?” Sophia asked, standing close to Louis, who was already down to the butt of a cigarette after only being here for grand total of fifteen minutes. Harry ducked around a lattice work divider strung with fairy lights, still able to hear the conversation without being seen.

 

“Christ. No. Of course I haven’t. How the hell do you suggest I go about that conversation, Soph?” Louis retorted, voice high and strained. Harry heard the twist of his heel on the ground as he put out his cigarette, followed quickly by the click of a lighter to start the next one in the series.

 

“You can’t keep sticking your head in the sand. He deserves to know."

 

"I tried, okay? I just...can't. After what happened today, I think it's better this way. It would have ended up like this anyway. Why prolong the inevitable."

 

"You don't know that, Louis."

 

"Yes. I do."

 

"I still think you should be honest with him," Sophia said softly.

 

"Sparrow!" Ginger's loud voice called from the doorway to the patio. "Come on, mate! Your RIO's about to challenge some German Navy grunt to an arm wrestling competition. You can't miss this. Craic's going to get his bloody arm ripped off! It'll be great fun!"

 

Harry winced as he rounded the corner from the lattice work fence, hiding spot blown to shit now. He couldn't even manage to look at Louis before Ginger was yanking him back into the bar.

 

For the second time in as many days, Harry found himself privy to a conversation he had no part in hearing. And for the second time, Harry realized that for the sake of his own sanity, maybe there were some things he was better off not knowing. He was beginning to realize that the phrase, " _eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves_ ," couldn't be more true.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Niall Horan was a simple lad. He didn’t ask for much and expected even less. His only real goal in life (besides keeping a full stomach) was being happy and making sure those around him were as well. To Niall, life wasn’t nearly as complicated as most people made it out to be.

 

That was why Niall took personal offense when one of his very best friends decided to go and make everything into a bloody late night made-for-TV drama, shitty acting and all. Harry could spew lines all night about how he “doesn’t believe in love,” and is “totally over that dickhead,” but he wouldn’t be winning any Academy Awards for his performance given the fact that his eyes told a very different story. Niall took another gulp of his pint and watched as Harry sulked over his half-finished scotch on the rocks. Niall was almost at his tipping point and they’d only been at the bar for a little over an hour.

 

The reason for Harry’s sour mood was currently stationed some ways off across the bar looking just as glum over his own drink, which Niall was pretty sure hadn’t even been touched at all. Niall looked back and forth between the pathetic pair and shook his head. Amateurs. If you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself, it seemed.

 

Before Niall set off on his latest mission, he guzzled down the last of the drink that had been earned after he pulled off a surprising win at the arm wrestling challenge. That would teach the rest of his recruit class to wager against him. They really should have known not to ever count the Craic out. He’d secured himself free drinks for the rest of the night (not that he had planned to pay for them anyway what with Harry’s card on tab at the bar) and had also probably started an international crisis between England and Germany in the process, if the nasty looks his bested opponent’s fellow Navy brethren were shooting his way was anything to go by. Ah well. Niall was an Irishman at heart anyway, so he couldn’t really be arsed to care all _that_ much.

 

He slammed the empty pint glass down on the table, startling Harry out of his moody staring contest with the melting ice cubes in his drink. Harry’s big green moo eyes turned to Niall. Yep. Time to get to work. Niall definitely had to do something. Those fucking eyes were a killer.

 

“Gonna get another free refill, compliments of our idiot comrades who bet against me arm,” Niall announced, kissing his left bicep. “And I’m gettin’ one for you too, so you better have that one finished by the time I get back.”

 

Niall walked across the bar, but quickly veered off path as soon as he was out of Harry’s eyesight. Niall marched right over to where Commander Tomlinson, Commander Corden and Dr. Smith were sitting away from the action of the raucous recruits blowing off their steam with a bevy of friendly German beauties. Niall would be all over that if it wasn’t for having to tend to Harry. The sooner this all got squared away the sooner Niall could get in on the action and bestow his Irish charm on all the deserving local lassies.

 

Niall sidled right up to the booth where his superiors were talking quietly and slid down into the seat next to Commander Tomlinson. “I think it’s time we properly talked, mate,” he announced. Dr. Smith gave Niall a knowing smirk and gracefully extricated herself from the booth.

 

“I need a refresher. Care to accompany me to the bar, James?” she asked, leaving her full drink on the table. Commander Corden got up swiftly to follow, chuckling to himself. Dr. Smith turned back to the table before she was even a pace away, “And Louis…you may not want to listen to me, but I strongly advise you hear this lad out. He does have the inside track. Just a suggestion.”

 

Niall winked at her and directed his attention to the forlorn looking man left at the table, who ignored him in favor of taking a sip from his drink. That was when Niall decided to cut to the chase. No better time than the present.

 

“So. You’ve been boning my best mate.”

 

Commander Tomlinson spluttered, gin and tonic droplets spewing across the table as he pounded on his chest. “Jesus. You don’t hold punches, do you, Irish?” he wheezed.

 

“Not my style, Commander. Blessed with a lot of special talents, I am. Good timing sadly isn’t one of ‘em. Neither is tact.”

 

“I think we’re beyond formalities after you’ve just openly commented on my sex life. Louis’ fine.”

 

“I prefer Tommo, if it’s all the same to you. Nicknames are a privilege of friendship in my book. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt by preemptively assuming we’ll be mates given your attachments to my dear pilot. If you manage to screw that up, I can always find plenty of other names to call you besides your given one.”

 

Louis shrugged his shoulders. “Surprised you haven’t already been calling me those names. I’m sure your ‘dear pilot’ already is.”

 

Niall chuckled, slapping Louis on the back. “You’re a funny one. I’ll give you that. Not particularly bright, but when it comes to matters of the heart, who is? Am I right?”

 

“Um. Should I be offended by that?” Louis asked.

 

“Most people usually find me offensive. I’m not bothered. But I'm not here to talk about my social graces.”

 

Louis looked back down at his drink. “Yeah. I figured.”

 

“I should probably just come out and say it, because God knows Harry won’t. That knob is one-hundred percent prime-time in love with you.”

 

“What?!” Louis gasped. If he had been taking another drink, it would have joined the previous spray on the table. “It’s only been…four weeks. And most of that time I’ve been an utter dick to him. Why would he love me? How could he _possibly_ love me?”

 

“Oh relax, mate. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Harry might be fast in a plane, but he moves slow in pretty much everything else from the way he walks to the way he talks. Giving his heart is no different. I’m not saying he’s in love with you _right now_ . I’m saying he _will_ be. And that’s pretty damn special, because it doesn’t happen all that often, so you best make sure that you’re ready for when he finally pulls his head out of his arse and realizes how gone he is for you.”

 

“Not after today. You heard what I said in class, but you didn’t hear what he said afterward. He was pretty adamant that he wants nothing more to do with me. And I don’t blame him. I don’t think there’s a way to make this work. I don’t think there ever was, really.”

 

Niall shrugged for effect. “You’re probably right. Especially if you insist on sitting over here like a twat instead of going over there and talking to him. Harry’s not the only one that needs to pull his head out of his arse.”

 

Louis looked over at Niall. “You do realize I’m still your instructor, right?”

 

Niall looked right back at Louis. “No. Right now you’re the arsehole who’s breaking my best mate’s heart. You want my respect, you make that right first.”

 

Louis backed down instantly. His eyes scanned across the bar until they locked on Harry, sitting in the same position Niall had left him, slumped over his drink. Niall was half tempted to grab Louis by his fringe and drag him over to Harry, but thankfully that didn’t seem to be necessary.

 

Louis slid from the booth on his own. “Where do I even start?” Louis murmured, more to himself than Niall.

 

Niall still answered anyway, “I’d say the truth is always a solid choice. Talking about your feelings and shit? And in your case, a groveling apology couldn’t hurt either.”

  
“The truth,” Louis whispered.

 

“Yeah. Secrets may get buried, but they never really die. They just leave their ghosts. The only way to get rid of those pesky buggers is to acknowledge them. That’s a bit of Irish wisdom for ya.”

 

Before Louis could go, Niall grabbed his wrist. There was still something else that needed to be made clear.

 

“One more thing. Harry’s not had the easiest go of things in this life. He’s struggled through a lot to get to where he is today, and he’s come out on top despite all the shit. He’s strong. He’s not fragile. But that doesn’t mean that wounds don’t still hurt even after they’ve scarred down. He deserves to be happy. He deserves that chance.”

 

Louis nodded. “I know how special he is. I’ve known for a very long time. Trust me.”

 

“I do. Take care of him, yeah? I won’t always be around to do it meself, so you better do a damn good job of it or you’re going to have one angry Irishmen on your arse. And you know how we Irish can get. We suffered through The Great Potato Famine for six bloody years. The pain you'll know at my hands will last a lot longer than that if you hurt him.”

 

Louis gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I have no doubt. For what it's worth, I appreciate the advice. And the approval.”

 

“Good. Now do you know what I would appreciate? Another pint. Get on that first, then go get ‘yer boy.”

 

“Is this what being friends with you entails? Plying you with alcohol?” Louis asked.

 

Niall shrugged. “It’s a start. I’ll take a Beck’s.”

 

So that was one half of the disaster managed easily enough, Niall figured. See? No drama needed. Niall was pretty awesome at this whole love thing. And he got more free drinks out of it too. Bonus.

 

“Leave it to the RIO. As per,” Niall muttered to himself, already on his way back to Harry. By the time this night was over, Niall was never going to have to pay for another drink again. Harry better appreciate the lengths to which Niall went to keep his beloved pilot happy.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Harry had just managed to choke down the rest of his drink by the time Niall rejoined him at his corner of the bar. Niall had a fresh pint in hand and another scotch for Harry. He set it down firmly, threatening a spill.

 

“Took you long enough,” Harry sighed.

 

“Piss off. Took a break from doom and gloom over here to eye up the pretty girls. Still came back to you though, pet. Always will.”

 

Harry sighed. He felt like shit, but that didn’t mean that Niall had to suffer along with him. This was the first time in weeks that they had been anywhere outside of their little flight school bubble. Harry may not be interested, but he could tell that the pickings were plenty at the bar if one so chose to look for a little company for the night.

 

“You should be out there having fun with the rest of the lads. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to babysit me,” Harry told him, trying not to sound so needy. In theory he wanted Niall to go off, but in reality he was selfish and wanted at least one person to pay him attention tonight. Still, he magnanimously said, “Go be happy.”

 

Niall shoved at Harry, so hard he almost toppled right off his bar stool. “I _am_ happy, you wanker. Got everything I need right here. I’ve got a family. I’ve got people who love me,” he said, lifting his pint up at the other recruits nearby who all cheered back at him. “I’ve got something to keep me occupied and out of trouble. I’ve got a roof over me head and food in me belly. I’ve got free pints whenever I want ‘em. And I’ve got you. My brother. What more could a humble lad from the Isle ask for?”

 

“Maybe a pretty bird to warm his bed at night?” Harry suggested. "I see a few looking your way. You should get on that. At least one of us should get some action tonight."

 

“Already got more birds than I can handle tonight,” Niall said, poking at Harry’s chest over his sparrow tattoos. “But I wouldn’t mind me a fair lassie at some point. She’ll come along when she’s good and ready. And when that happens, I’ll be ready for her too. Well…probably not ready, because when are we ever ready for something as earth quaking as falling in love, right? But I’ll pick me nuts up off the floor and meet her with open arms anyhow. That’s what you’ve got to do when you find someone who gives your world the shakes.”

 

“You’ve got to grab your nuts?”

 

Niall slapped Harry upside the head. “No, you blithering idiot. You’ve got to have your _heart open_. Christ, I try to be serious for five fuckin’ seconds and it goes right over your bloody head. You’re pathetic, mate. Ya really are. Grab your nuts? Can’t believe you just said that. Don’t want to know what kinky shit you and Tommo get up to. Maybe I should start calling _him_ Goolie Grabber. Sounds well with Bum Bandit. Makes a nice pair. I’d ship it.”

 

“I’m sure he’s more fond of Rogue. As am I.”

 

“You’re not fond of Rogue. You’re fond of Louis. They’re not one and the same. They can’t be. So don’t be too hard on him for today. It’s not easy having a tempestuous little nymph like you as a student.”

 

“Are you saying he’s just acting this way to make sure we stay a secret? So no one will know?” Harry asked.

 

“I’d say that probably not too far off the mark. Especially with you going around drooling over his arse in class and accidentally dropping pet names in front of the bloody Captain. But maybe there’s more to it.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“You ever consider that maybe he’s scared?”

 

“Louis? Scared? Have you seen the way he flies?”

 

“There you go again making them the same.”

 

“I just…I don’t see him being scared. Not like…” _Not like I am._  Harry couldn’t finish, but Niall still knew. His face softened and he reached a hand out to brush against Harry’s cheek.

 

“You’re going to have to change that, mate. You can’t be scared if you intend on ending up happy.”

 

“But it _is_ scary. It’s terrifying, Niall.”

 

“Yeah. But so is launching yourself off a fuckin’ ship at 170 miles an hour. You do that everyday without even batting one of them pretty little eyelashes. Maybe it’s time you stop choking back on the throttle when it comes to your personal life. We’ve only known one way to fly, Harry, and that’s going balls to the wall. You better love that way too, or you’re never going to catch what you’ve been chasing.”

 

Harry looked across the bar for Louis, who had moved from his booth with Sophia and Commander Corden over to the bar by himself. When Harry caught eyes with him, Louis had already been looking his way. Just like that first night in the Thurso pub, everything else paled in comparison to those electric blue eyes holding his gaze. And that’s when Harry knew. That’s when Harry knew that despite how ridiculous it was and how fast it had happened, and despite all the bullshit they still struggled with and would probably continue to struggle with, Harry had undeniably and irrevocably fallen for Louis Tomlinson.

 

Niall rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder in fond support. “Happiness isn’t just something that happens to you. Happiness is something you’ve got to take. You’ve got to want it bad enough to fight for it. So how bad do you want it, Harry?”

 

As a pilot, Harry spent his entire life trying to defy gravity. But this he had no control over. This was a free fall. Harry wasn’t sure what would await him when he finally met the ground, but for the first time, Harry wasn’t quite so afraid to find out.

 

Maybe it was time to push the throttle.

 

“I want it,” Harry admitted quietly. “I just don’t want to be the only one that does. I’ve worked so hard to get here - to prove myself - and I can’t risk screwing that up for something so unsure. I can’t bear to lose anything else when I’ve already lost so much.”

 

“Mate, what happened to your Dad was a tragedy. It really was. But it was an _accident_. It happens everyday in our line of work. It’s a risk we know we take every time we get in a plane. No one was at fault, least of all you. But I’ll tell you this...if you don’t take a risk here, _this_ loss will be on you. Regret is heavy. It weighs you down. And people like you are meant to soar, Harry. Now stop wastin’ your time chattin’ me up when you know I’m already yours till the end. Go over there and take a shot at happiness. Might as well.”

 

“Might as well,” Harry repeated.

 

He set down his scotch and strode across the bar. With each step he took, Louis' eyes got wider until they were standing toe to toe amidst a crowd of people around them.

 

"We need to talk," Harry said.

 

Louis nodded. "I know. But not here. When we get back to the carrier tonight. I'll find you."

 

Harry looked at him steadily. "Don't stand me up this time."

 

"I won’t. Not again."

 

"See you later then."

 

Louis headed off toward the patio, cigarette already in hand. Harry headed off to the bar for a few more drinks. He would certainly need a bit of conviction courtesy of a stiff scotch for what was coming later, and this time, he wouldn’t walk away before everything was all in the open.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

By the time they were headed back to the carrier a few hours later, Harry had enough liquid courage in him to get through whatever conversation was about to come. He didn't have to wait long, because as soon as they unloaded on the flight deck - all still tipsy and clinging to one another while reminiscing the night - a hand wrapped around his wrist, holding him back from the group. Harry only had time to catch eyes with a knowing Niall before he was led off between a line of vacant planes.

 

Harry could barely see Louis in this light, shrouded in shadows from the new moon. All Harry could really see was his silhouette and the gleam of his eyes. Louis took a step closer to Harry, then a step back, hands tucked deeply in his pockets. Harry didn’t dare move, he just waited.

 

The first words out of Louis’ mouth were, “I’m sorry.”

 

Harry shook his head, letting out the breath he had been holding. “I’m not the only one owed an apology. I’m sorry too. For what happened in class, for what happened afterwards, for what I said. I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

 

“You would have every right if you did,” Louis told him.

 

“No. It’s no excuse to take my frustration out on you when you’re risking just as much as I am here. It’s not fair for me to play the victim. I knew the rules. I went into this with my eyes wide open.” The same could probably not be said about Harry’s heart, if he was honest, given his instinctive response to panic when things got too personal. But he was going to change that. He _wanted_ to change that.

 

“Just because your eyes are open doesn’t mean you see everything that’s going on. Without the full picture, you couldn’t have made a fair judgement. I was trying to tell you earlier, but I think we were both a bit too wound up to say what needed to be said, what should have been said. I’ll tell you now, though, if you still want to hear it,” Louis asked hesitantly.

 

Harry nodded, taking a deep, calming breath.

 

“There’s been suspicion. Apparently we’re not as subtle as we thought,” Louis said, thumbing over a fading love bite just peeking out from the collar of his jumper. “People are talking. And when that happens, it’s only a matter of time before they start asking questions. Questions that we can’t afford to answer right now.”

 

“I understand,” Harry said. “Apparently I’m already quite a popular discussion topic in meetings.”

 

Louis rolled his eyes, “Strictly speaking, what’s discussed in meetings is classified. But let’s just say that there are certain members of the staff who are a tad bitter about being shown up by a student. Jealous fuckers,” Louis hissed under his breath, before continuing on, “And I’m not exactly popular amongst the veterans either. I think you’re pretty well aware that everyone has their own agenda here, and not just your fellow recruits. When it comes to you and me, it would be quite a perk if someone with a shared grudge could take down two bogeys with the same missile....hypothetically speaking. That’s why it’s maybe best if we don’t make that task any easier by giving them a clear shot.”

 

Harry nodded. He didn’t bother asking who it was exactly that was trying to get them on lock. It was clear that it was someone above Louis’ head that had the power to make their lives miserable should they get the opportunity, and that was reason enough for Harry considering he was in an even lower position of importance than Louis.

 

“So where does this leave us?” Harry finally dared to ask, still getting a ridiculous thrill out of using the word “ _us_ ” even though this conversation seemed a lot more like it was about to break that fragile little bond than tie it closer together.

 

“I think it’s pretty evident that when it comes to you, I’m compromised. I’ve been reckless, stupid, selfish. But I won’t hurt your chances here. I think maybe it’s best that we put this on hold. At least for now. It’s only a matter of time before something like this afternoon happens again, except with much worse consequences. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear. It isn’t what I wanted to say either.”

 

It wasn’t what Harry wanted, but he was still able to pick up on the little sliver of hope amidst the debris of his disappointment. “So this isn’t never. It’s just not now?” Harry asked hesitantly.

 

Louis sighed, taking a step closer to Harry. “I don’t think I could say never to you. When you’ve got that trophy in your hands, I’ll be the first to congratulate you. Then we can figure this all out. Okay?”

 

“But for right now…”

 

“For right now, I’m going to be who you need me to be to get through the rest of this program. I’m going to make you better. I need to make you the best.” Harry could feel the desperation in Louis’ words, see it in his eyes despite the darkness, but he didn’t quite understand it.

 

“Why?” he asked.

 

“Because I don’t want to lose you. I refuse to be the reason why another…” Louis paused, taking a deep breath, “...why you don’t achieve what I know you’re capable of.”

 

Harry took his own step closer to Louis, putting them right against one another, blue burning into green. Harry searched those eyes, but didn’t find defeat. Instead he found promise. It was enough to spark hope that Harry would leave this program with more than just a diploma, a trophy, and an exciting new career ahead of him. For now, Harry could be happy knowing he’d be a lot happier very soon.

 

“So no more one-on-one practice sessions, then,” Harry said, a small smile curling into his cheeks.

 

Louis returned it with a teasing groan. “As much as I absolutely _hate_ to say it...no. At least not ones that end in orgasms. Aside from designated program requirements, I need to keep my distance from you, but know that it’s not going to change _this_.” He paused before quietly adding, “Change the way I...feel.”

 

Harry looked down at his feet, needlessly hiding his blush in the dark. “Looks like I finally got my answer after all.”

 

Louis finally reached out to him, resting a warm palm against his cheek, sadness inexplicably clouding his eyes. “You’ll have all your answers soon enough. Then we’ll see where things stand. For now, let’s just focus on getting you that trophy. I think my name needs a little worthy company on that plaque. You _might_ be up to the task. Just maybe.”

 

Harry’s eyes darted up just in time to catch Louis’ wink.

 

After a pause, Harry said, “You know, this isn’t what I expected, coming here. It’s been harder than I thought, and not just because of the flying. This place...this program...it bring up a lot of things I would rather forget. It doesn’t always bring out my best.” Harry hoped Louis heard the unspoken apology for exploding at him when his father had been mentioned. Harry understood now, understood Louis’ precarious position. He knew why the comment had been necessary. Even if it still stung the tiniest bit...maybe always would whenever Harry’s lineage was brought up.

 

“It’s okay. I know what you mean,” Louis said softly, thumb brushing along Harry’s cheekbone. Harry leaned into the touch, so happy to have even this small contact again.

 

But Harry knew this was it. This was the last moment they would have alone together in this capacity for quite some time, and he just didn’t want it to end yet. His hands found their way to Louis’ chest, feeling the steady beat of Louis’ heart beneath the soft fabric of his jumper.

 

“Two weeks,” Harry said with a sigh, daring to drop his head down against Louis’ shoulder.

 

Louis chuckled. “Feels like forever. But only because we’re so shit at waiting. Clearly we don’t have much self restraint given how quickly we jumped into things. Probably went about this all backwards, but I can’t be too arsed to care considering I’ve probably never been as well satisfied as I’ve been the past week thanks to your insatiable sex drive. You make me lose my head, love.”

 

“Would rather _give_ you head,” Harry bemoaned into Louis’ chest. “My balls are going to be so fucking blue.”

 

Louis barked out a quick laugh, instantly stifling it against Harry’s curls. “And what fine balls they are. Not as large as advertised based on the comparisons to a gorilla, now that I’ve seen them for myself. But I quite like them, anyway. I quite like _you,_ anyway.”

 

Harry instantly wrapped his arms around Louis’ slender frame, pulling them into a crushing embrace. Louis’ were around his shoulders just as quickly, just as secure. And _this_. This was coming home. This was his safe passage. This was what Harry had been searching to find for so fucking long. And now it was being stripped away. But not indefinitely. It was like sailing into port in a storm. You couldn’t see the coast over the crashing waves, but there was always the flicker of the lighthouse, there even in the most desperate of times.

 

Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to end the contact, far too soon. “So...I guess I’ll see you around, Commander.”

 

Louis’ smile was bright, it’s own welcoming beacon. “On your six, Pigeon,” he said as he stepped away.

 

“Promise?” Harry asked.

 

“Always.”

 

Harry watched Louis disappear into the shadows of the planes. Then he was alone. But when he looked to his side, he caught sight of a familiar sweep of metal, and he didn’t feel quite so lonely anymore.

 

He took slow steps over to Georgia Rose and rested his palms against her cold, battered skin. “No regrets, love. We fly with no regrets.” He pressed a quick kiss to her nose, just under where his name and call sign were proudly painted on her surface. "We're going to soar."

 

When Harry fell asleep that night, it was to the distant memory of his father taking him on his first ride in the old, beaten down M-18 Dromader that he’d lovingly fixed up on his leaves from duty. Harry could still hear the buzz from the nose propeller like it was his own heartbeat. He could still smell the sharp scent of rust and feel the rumbling from the engine beneath the seat.

 

_“We’re up so high, Dad!” Harry cried, pressing his face to the window as he sat in Dad’s lap, only able to manage because he was small for a seven year old. But still. Dad had said that when he turned seven Harry could go flying with him. He’d_ promised _. And today was Harry’s seventh birthday. He’d been counting down the days on his Spiderman calendar, the date circled and stamped with an airplane sticker. Seven years old. Practically an adult. Practically ready to enlist in the Royal Navy tomorrow if there wasn’t the bother of primary school in his way._

 

_“Hey now, Lieutenant. Hands on the yoke!” Dad teased, guiding Harry’s small hands from where they were smudging the glass to grasp the rickety yoke._

 

_“Yes, Sir,” Harry said with a grin wide enough to display the missing front tooth that he’d just yanked out yesterday on the playground. “Can we do a barrell roll now?” Harry begged. “Pleaaaaase!”_

 

_Dad laughed. “Alright. Do you remember what I told you?”_

 

_Harry nodded eagerly. “Slow and steady, not too quick. Sure hands. Gentle touch.”_

 

_“That’s right, my little Sparrowhawk. That’s right.”_

 

_Harry gently eased the yoke to the side, holding his breath as the right wing tipped down slowly. They were going over, over, over until they were completely belly up, Harry’s long, messy curls standing straight up from his head, brain feeling like it was going to explode as all the blood in his whole body pooled in his head. But too soon, the plane was back to right side up again, wings steady._

 

_“Well that was pretty darn good,” Dad said proudly. Harry absolutely_ beamed _at the compliment. Dad didn’t give them lightly, especially not when it came to flying. Harry had heard Dad’s friends from work say that he was the strictest teacher at his flying school. Even stricter than Harry’s Maths teacher, Mr. Westbrook. And he_ never _smiled. Never said well done. But both of them made their students the best they could be. Still, Harry would much rather hang out with Dad in a plane any day than go to boring, old Maths class. He would always choose flying with Dad. Over anything. Over everything._

 

_“Can we do it again?” Harry asked excitedly as soon as the blood stopped rushing to his head from being upside down._

 

_Dad laughed. “You’re going to spin yourself silly now that you’ve gotten a taste for it, aren’t you?”_

 

_“Yep!”_

 

_An hour (and probably a zillion barrel rolls) later, Harry watched patiently as Dad took over the controls to set them down into a perfect landing on the huge field behind their cottage. When the wheels touched down, Harry sighed happily. Best birthday ever._

 

_“Hey Dad? Do you think I’ll make a good pilot?” Harry dared to ask, chewing on his lips waiting for Dad’s answer._

 

_Dad hummed for a moment, thinking it over. Finally, he said, “I think you’re going to be the_ best _pilot. I think you’re going to be even better than me. You’re going to be a star at Premier Delta, my boy, name on the Pilot’s trophy and in all the record books. But Harry, I want you to remember something. There’s more to life than flying. Sometimes even I forget that. I don’t want you to forget. I want you to have adventures. And I want you to make friends. Fall in love.” Harry wrinkled his nose at that._ Love _. Yuck!_

 

_Dad tickled his sides, fingers digging into Harry’s ribs, and he squealed. “I want you to laugh!” Dad continued, laughing right along with Harry, “I want you to follow your dreams. But most of all, I want you to be happy. Find what makes you happy and make that your home. If you do that, no matter how far you travel, no matter how lost you feel, you’ll always be able to find your way back where you belong.”_

 

_“Just like you,” Harry said, turning around on Dad’s lap and poking his finger at the dog tags around Dad’s neck, at the little silver paper airplane pendant that Harry had picked out for him for Christmas this past year with Mum’s help._

 

_Dad nodded. “You’re my home, Harry. But it’s okay if someday, when you grow up, I’m not yours. You’ll find your own home. And that’s the most precious thing in the whole world. Even more precious than flying with the sparrowhawks. Okay?”_

 

_Harry nodded, trusting that Dad always knew what he was talking about. Dad was never wrong. Still… “What if I can’t find it, though? What if I can’t find my home?”_

 

_“You will, Harry.”_

 

_“And if I need help?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes._

 

_“I’ll always be around to help steer you in the right direction if you need it. I'll always shed a little light along your path if you get lost.”_

 

_Harry was appeased by that. Dad was the smartest, bravest, awesomest person in the whole world, Harry was pretty sure. And he’d always be there whenever Harry needed him. That wasn’t going to change._

 

_“Promise?” Harry asked, holding out a pinky._

 

_“Always,” Dad said, curling his own around Harry’s._

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

As Monday afternoon broke, ushering in the official beginning of week five now that the Captain was back aboard, Harry’s mood was much improved after he and Louis had made their peace last night. With Harry’s meager free time suddenly less occupied, he was even more dedicated to making the final two weeks at 1D the best of his entire flying career. He was determined to show Louis - and everyone else - that he deserved to be here and that he was taking it seriously. Niall had laughed at Harry’s “ _focus is my new middle name_ ” manifesto that he'd recited this morning, but Harry knew Niall was just as relieved that flying was once again top priority on the agenda. It was time to get back to business.

 

The sun was well overhead as Harry and Niall walked across the flight deck for their first hop of the week, mercifully both hangover free after a miserable morning recovering with their fellow detoxing recruits. They were paired with Spider and Ginger today, an unlikely pairing given their position at opposite poles in the standings, but Harry figured maybe that was the point. Maybe Harry could infuse a bit of his newfound focus into his wingmen today and help them scrape up a few more much needed points.

 

“Hey, mate. Feelin’ good today?” Harry asked Ginger, bumping his shoulder against the red-headed RIO. He liked Ginger. He was a good bloke. Ginger and Niall had bonded over the course of the jaunt to the mainland last night through pints and the old sketchily tuned piano at the German bar. Niall had been quick to adopt him into their little brotherhood, and if someone was good in Niall’s book, that was approval enough for Harry.

 

In addition to being a good mate and a wicked musician, Ginger was also a really solid RIO. Unfortunately his talents weren’t being put to the best use right now given that his pilot seemed to be in a pretty unrecoverable spiral. While Harry had thrived on the cut throat competition at 1D, Spider had fallen prey to it.

 

Harry watched as Niall and Spider walked ahead of them by a good ten yards, Niall’s head angled toward the other pilot no doubt having a similar pep talk for Spider’s benefit.

 

“Dunno,” Ginger said with a sigh. “Not really about how _I’m_ feeling, innit? Spidey’s not handling this well, mate. We’re at the bottom of the class. Dead last. I’m seriously worried we’re not even going to graduate. I think it’s too much. I love him, God knows I do, don’t get me wrong. He really is a hell of a pilot. I just don’t think _he_ believes that yet. And this place has a funny way of either bringing out the best in people…” He inclined his head at Harry. “…or the absolute fucking worst.” His eyes shifted back to Spider again, full of worry.

 

Harry slung his arm around Ginger’s shoulder. “Hey. He’ll be fine today, Ging. I’ll look out for him. We’ll be right on your wing. I won't leave you. I’m not going to let anything happen to him.”

 

“Thanks.” Ginger smiled at Harry and gave him an appreciative pat on the back. “You’re a good lad, Sparrow. Pretty decent pilot too.” He gave Harry a cheeky winked before he hurried his paces to catch up with his pilot.

 

When Ginger took over the pep talk for a pale and jittery Spider, Niall took a step back and waited for Harry as the other pair continued on.

 

“Makes me glad to be stuck with you for a pilot,” Niall said once they were alone. “Never thought I’d see the day when I’d be sayin’ that.”

 

Harry smiled half heartedly at Niall’s attempt to lighten the mood. “He’s pretty down, huh?”

 

Niall took a deep breath, letting it out through pursed lips. “Yeah. Feel awful for him. Could have been us, you know? Any of us. All it takes is a few bad hops and then you’re trying to dig yourself out of a hole without a shovel. Total Charlie Foxtrot.”

 

“Not many can manage that,” Harry said, thinking just how lucky they were that the positions weren’t reversed.

 

Niall frowned at him, stopping in his stride. “You did.”

 

“Did what?” Harry asked.

 

Niall rolled his eyes. “You know, sometimes I really wonder how thick your head is under all them curls. I may not spend every waking hour of me day blowing smoke up ‘yer arse like most RIOs do for the delicate egos of their pilots, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t respect the hell out of you, Harry. You’re a really fucking incredible flyer. I love you quite a lot.”

 

Harry’s eyes got misty. He couldn’t help it. Niall was never usually so openly fond or sincere. Harry had long ago learned to interpret Niall’s acerbic insults as proclamations of love. This was uncharted territory.

 

“Niall…” Harry murmured.

 

Niall shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. Don’t you dare go gettin’ sappy. Just get ‘yer arse in the plane and give me a good ride today, eh? Payback for all the hours you’ve been abandoning me in favor of riding Tommo’s dick.”

 

Niall’s crotch grab and pelvic thrust instantly crushed whatever sentimental mood Harry was feeling. Harry smacked at Niall to stop his obscene display, to which Niall cackled and doubled his efforts.

 

“Sorry about being MIA lately,” Harry finally added once Niall stopped undulating.

 

Niall waved a hand, apology accepted in that simple gesture. “Like I said, as long as you’re happy, all is good. And you’re happy, right?”

 

“I will be. Very soon.”

 

Despite Niall’s insistence otherwise, Harry still felt a little guilty for pushing their friendship off to the side in his whirlwind of all things Louis. He decided that tonight after their 1D obligations were done, he would spend some quality bro time with his favorite Irishman. Harry had managed to con the barkeep at the German pub to let him buy an unopened bottle of Niall’s favorite whiskey from the bar’s supply. He had been planning to give it to Niall in exchange for an armistice with the Mighty Wings to end everyone’s suffering. Unfortunately now, it seemed the war would continue on for another week because Harry was going to give Niall the whiskey anyway free of any attached stipulations. Damn leprechaun.

 

Niall hummed a happy Irish tune as they made their way toward Georgia Rose, one Harry had heard Niall’s mum sing in the kitchen many times when he’d stayed with the Horan family. It made Harry remember something. “Hey, Ni. Your family is still coming next week, right? For graduation?”

 

The smile that split Niall’s face rivaled the actual sun cresting the horizon. “Yep. The whole brood. They’re looking forward to cheering for the newly crowned top dogs at 1D. Mum won’t shut up about seeing you. She was naggin’ me about whether or not you’ve gotten your hair trimmed, so I advise you stop in at a local barber shop when we get back to Thurso or you’ll never hear the end of it from her.”

 

Harry sheepishly ran a hand through his shaggy hair, well past his collar now. He could already hear Niall’s mum clucking her tongue as she tugged on the longest strands and threatened to take the kitchen shears to him herself. He would head into town the moment he was back on solid ground again. Anything for Molly Horan. It was no secret where Niall got his charms (and ability to bend Harry’s will for his own benefit).

 

“I can’t wait to see them,” Harry said, because despite the fact that the impending visit meant he would have to submit to a haircut, he really did love Niall’s family. “It’s been awhile. You must be happy too. It’s been just as long for you.”

 

“Aye. I’m buzzin’ to see ‘em. Is ‘yer mum coming in too?” Niall asked, voice a tad bit more measured than normal broaching this particular topic.

 

Harry bit his lip for a moment and looked out at the water, strides slowing. The official invitations had been sent two weeks ago, but there had been no direct reply to Harry. A few days ago, when Harry had casually asked the program office clerk responsible for planning the graduation ceremony if there had been some delay in the post, he confirmed that all invitations had been sent without issue and that the guest list had been officially set. Mrs. Andrea Styles had sent in her regrets. Harry wasn’t really surprised.

 

He shook his head at Niall, not quite able to meet his friend’s eyes.

 

Niall wrapped his arm around Harry, pulling him in close. “You’ll still have family there cheering for you, my brother. And you’ll always have me. Now keep that recently overused pecker of yours up. We’ve got a lot to be happy about right now. Life is good. Really damn good. Let’s enjoy it, shall we? Because you never know when your luck will change. Even us Irish have our limit.”

 

“Roger that, Craic. Let’s get our lady in the air.”

 

Twenty minutes into the hop, Harry still hadn’t seen even a bloody seagull on the horizon indicating that they had company up in the sky. It was making Harry restless. It was too quiet. Usually they were engaged by now, already in the heat of the fight, but so far they hadn’t even had a single blip on their radar.

 

“Anything, Craic?” Harry asked, checking and re-checking the sky in all directions.

 

“Negative,” Niall told him.

 

“Spider? Ginger? You guys pick anything up?” Harry asked, looking out over his wing at the other F-14 next to him.

 

“You’d be the first to know,” Ginger replied back. “Does this feel weird to you?”

 

“Very,” Harry said. “I don’t like this.”

 

Just as he was about to call back into base to ask if there had been a problem with one of the instructors’ planes, chatter crackled to life over his radio. “Tower to Ghostriders Three-Two-Niner, Five-Two-Zero. Training mission is hereby aborted. Proceed back to carrier for immediate landing.”

 

Harry tapped on the side of his helmet, positive he must have heard that wrong. “Ghostrider Three-Two-Niner to Tower. Please repeat. Over.”

 

“Return to carrier. Immediately. Radar has detected potential bogeys in the area. Identity unconfirmed at this point, assumed hostile.”

 

That Harry heard loud and clear. He wasn’t about to take his chances, especially when his plane didn’t have a single lick of firepower to defend them if said bogeys were indeed not friendly.

 

“Affirmative. Headed back now,” Harry quickly confirmed.

 

The radio cut out and Harry turned Georgia Rose back toward the carrier in a wide loop, eyes scanning the sky on high alert.

 

“Well fuck,” Niall said, no doubt keeping a careful eye on his radar behind Harry. “Who do you think it is?”

 

Harry shrugged, pushing the throttle forward. “Dunno. But I don’t really fancy finding out.”

 

“I’m with ya. Can’t be the Germans, right? Brits are on good terms with them.”

 

“Unlikely. Unless they took genuine offense to you loudly and drunkenly proclaiming that Irish pubs are far superior to German biergartens last night and are now on the warpath,” Harry teased.

 

Niall snorted indignantly before muttering under his breath that even sober he still thought the same.

 

Harry was about to continue his teasing when he realized that something was wrong. “Where’s Spider and Ginger?” he asked, looking around for his wingman who was nowhere in sight.

 

“Shit,” Niall huffed. “He was just on our six. Now he’s parked way the fuck back there.”

 

Harry turned to look over his shoulder, and sure enough, Spider was a barely visible speck on the horizon about a mile behind them and clearly not moving. “Spider, this is Sparrow. You good?” Harry asked.

 

Static met him over the radio as he waited for a reply.

 

“Spider. Come in. We’re headed back to the carrier. We’ve got orders. Don’t leave my wing, yeah?” he tried again.

 

This time he got a reply, but it was from Ginger. “Sparrow? I think I’ve got something on radar, but I’m not sure.”

 

“Well, fuck, Ging! Get out of there,” Niall told him. “Don’t wait around to wave hello!”

 

“Yeah. That’s going to be a bit of a problem,” Ginger said uneasily.

 

That’s when Harry noticed the heavy panting transmitting over the radio.

 

“Damn it,” Harry muttered, pushing Georgia Rose’s yoke to the side to head back the way from which they’d just came.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” Niall barked.

 

“He needs us,” Harry said without delay. “Spider's panicking. We’re not leaving our wingman. I promised I’d never do that again, and I’m not breaking that promise now.”

 

The tower commander on the carrier was instantly in Harry’s ear as soon as they’d seen him change course. “Pilot, you’ve been given orders. Return to the carrier.”

 

“Tower, we’ve got a situation up here. Spider has a technical malfunction,” Harry lied, desperately trying to protect his mate’s reputation. “I need to guide him in. If those bogeys are close, we’re going to need cover.”

 

“Already en route. Sixty seconds. Get him and get back to the carrier.”

 

Just as the tower commander finished, Niall smacked the back of Harry’s seat. “Fuck! There! There! Three o’clock!”

 

Harry squinted his eyes, and what he saw caused a cold sweat to break out over his skin.

 

“Sparrow!” Ginger yelled. “It’s a fucking MiG! He’s gonna get our six!”

 

Harry slammed his throttle down, jet going supersonic with a boom. “Incoming! Spider, you’ve got to get out of there!”

 

Harry watched in horror as the MiG got into perfect attack position with little resistance from Spider.

 

“He’s got us on lock!” Ginger cried.

 

“God damn it, Spider!” Harry yelled. Spider’s jet wobbled but didn’t move to evade.

 

“We’ve got no ammo,” Niall said, high and panicky. “What are we going to do?”

 

“Distract him. And hope he doesn’t have good aim,” Harry said back just as he zipped right over the pair to draw attention. He pushed hard on Georgia Rose’s yoke until he had her rounding back toward Spider’s jet and the MiG. As expected, once the MiG pilot saw that he was no longer dealing with only one target, he pulled off of Spider’s tail in preference of evading the more threatening attacker. He dove down through the clouds and Harry followed, chasing after him.

 

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” Niall barked. “We don’t have weapons! We can’t take him down!”

 

“He doesn’t know that. Back-up will be here any second. We’ve just got to chase him off of Spider.”

 

But the MiG wasn’t going to cooperate with Harry’s plans. It pulled up sharply, headed right back up toward Spider, who was still as they’d left him, a sitting duck.

 

“Spider, fucking move!” Harry hollered, voice more dominant than it had ever been.

 

It seemed to work, because Spider’s jet jerkily tilted to the side and then dove straight down. Harry didn’t have time to breathe a sigh of relief because Spider was suddenly headed straight toward him.

 

“Pull up! Spider, pull up!” Harry cried. The jet was coming in too fast at far too close an angle. At the very last second, Spider shifted his path just to the left, brushing so close to Harry’s wing that the entire plane shook from the disturbance of air. Harry had no time to react. No hope of saving the situation.

 

“Shit!” Niall yelped as their plane flew right through Spider’s jet wash, unavoidable due to the dangerous proximity at which Spider had made his move. Harry’s hand clutched down hard on the yoke to stabilize, but it was useless. Georgia Rose was already tumbling.

 

“Fuck! I can’t recover!” The plane was in a flat spin, controls failing and altitude meter dropping by the second. “Mayday! Mayday!” Harry screamed through his mask, hoping that communications were still on line and that someone in the tower could hear him.

 

Harry couldn’t hear what the warbled voice was telling him over the pounding pulse in his ears or the blaring sound of alarms. He couldn’t see the trio of jets race overhead to engage the MiG. He couldn’t hear Spider’s panicked cries and broken apologies. Harry could only focus on the one word that every jet pilot feared more than all else.

 

“Eject! Eject!” Harry screamed at the top of his lungs.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me yet! We're far from done!
> 
> *Slinks off back to my hideout and hopes you still comment and come chat with me on Tumblr (RealityBetterThanFiction)*
> 
> Cheers!


	8. Premier Delta (HMS Elizabeth) - Week Five - (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 5 at Premier Delta has a tragic start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major apologies again for another delay, and after a horrible cliffhanger too! I'm awful, I know. Writing WIPs is clearly not something I should be doing.
> 
>  
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS!! Please note that this chapter has graphic description of a plane crash and the subsequent major character injuries and trauma following. Do not read if this is upsetting or triggering for you. Feel free to message me here or on Tumblr (RealityBetterThanFiction) and I can give you the abridged version to catch you up. Be safe, my dears!
> 
> Notes: This chapter (let's be honest...every chapter) is dedicated to my absolutely incredible RIOs Bubblymar and CueTheTommo. Without them, this would NOT have gotten finished. I owe this to them for their constant support and handholding as I tore myself apart writing this. So much love to you both! I don't know what I'd do without you, and it has been an absolute joy working with and getting to know you both! xoxo
> 
>  
> 
> xxxxx
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy and thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:
> 
> Down - Jason Walker
> 
> Storm - Lifehouse

**RealityBetterThanFiction’s Crash-Course to Aviation:**

 

 

DNIF - Duty Not Including Flying...basically like probation.

 

*Reminder to check the trigger warnings in the notes at the beginning of the chapter before reading! 

 

Story starts below...Enjoy!

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

If flying was the dream, this was the nightmare. This was the moment where training gave way to blind panic, in veterans and rookies alike. Years of exhaustive practice and relentless sacrifice came down to whether or not you could reach a fucking handle dangling less than a metre in front of your face.

 

“Eject! Eject!” Harry screamed again, hand trying for the ejection handle, their last hope. The G force was so crushing that Harry was plastered to his seat, arms heavy like anvils. He could feel the edge of his consciousness looming, body desperate for air, lungs unable to work beyond gulping gasps. He squeezed every one of his muscles, trying to keep the blood to his head, trying to stay lucid.

 

“Engines out! Fifteen thousand. Thirteen. Ten. Fuck! Now! _Now!_ ” Niall yelled from behind him, eyes no doubt watching the plummeting altitude meter just like Harry as their chances dwindled with each spin of the needle. The sound of alarms filled the cockpit, filled Harry's head.

 

“I can’t! I can’t reach it!” Harry hollered as he tried again for the handle. So close, so bloody close, a promise to end this horror. A mocking reprieve held just out of reach. Harry couldn’t tell what direction he was going, couldn’t tell up from down, sky from sea. All he knew was that there were a matter of seconds between the chance at life and the certainty of death.

 

Harry cried out, teeth gritted and eyes closed, as he blindly fought his invisible constraints and reached up for the handle one last time. His fingers grasped it just as Niall screamed, “Six thousand! Oh God! _Harry!_ ”

 

Harry yanked with every last ounce of his strength. Then a bomb blast detonated around him, windscreen blowing off with an explosion of sparks and the squeal of splintering metal. Harry’s entire world was being ripped apart at the seams, just like the body of his beloved Georgia Rose.

 

Harry’s seat launched up into the air, and that was it. Harry was out.

 

  
  
xxxxx

 

 

Harry could feel the wind on his face.

 

It was the first thing he registered after he slowly started to come back to himself, mind hazy and sluggish, body sore and heavy. It was a pleasant kind of breeze, something from a distant dream. A warm, soft gust that reminded him of summer flights with his Dad, pretending he was a Premier Delta pilot before Dad left to train the real ones. Harry didn’t think he’d ever forget those endless days spent in his Dad’s lap with his head in the clouds and eyes on the horizon.

 

_One day, son. One day you’ll know the happiness and heartbreak of being a pilot._

 

The memories welled inside of him as he drifted between here and gone, body floating just as aimlessly on the wind.

 

It felt like forever as Harry hung in suspension, waiting for something - _anything -_ to pull him back from the past. The sound of flapping fabric rippled above him, and Harry slowly blinked his eyes open to the harsh light of the sun reflecting off the surface of the water. Water that was getting steadily closer with each labored breath Harry dragged into his body.

 

The second he hit the surface, he gasped at the sudden shock. The frigid water enveloped his body, startling him out of his fuzzy memories and back into the vivid horror of his reality.

 

The water was so cold. So bloody freezing that he was instantly numb, limbs unable to move of their own volition. He struggled with his belt, ripping it off and flailing to get himself clear of the harness. His legs tangled in the parachute as it gently and soundlessly fluttered down over him. He wasn’t fully free of it before he was screaming out into the waves.

 

“Niall!”

 

He paddled through the water, arms heavy with the sodden fabric of his flight suit, body protesting in pain at each stroke he took. The floatation device in his suit had deployed, keeping him afloat despite his struggle. But he still felt like he was going to drown, choking on the spray as it washed over his face. He coughed up seawater as he continued to call out for Niall, lungs burning from the salt. His hands smacked at the water while he whipped his head around trying to sift through the rest of the wreckage for his best mate.

 

“Niall!” he tried again, shoving aside a piece of metal in his way that had once been part of Georgia Rose’s body. Harry could just make out the letters _Lt. Niall “Crai_ \- painted on the scrap and his stomach rolled. The metal chunk floated off with the rest of the smoking wreckage around him. Similar pieces were everywhere, littered across the surface, destined to this watery end. Never to fly again.

 

When Harry saw the white fabric of another chute ten metres away, his entire body went into a frenzy. He didn’t register anything going on around him, mind focused on one thing and one thing alone. He had to get to his RIO. He had to get to Niall.

 

“No. God, no,” Harry gasped the moment his hands clutched Niall’s body, lying limp still strapped to his chute. He tugged Niall closer, eyes scanning over his pale face void of any signs of life. Harry tore off the harness and pulled Niall into his body. He leaned back in the water so his suit could keep them afloat while he rested Niall against his chest. He pushed off Niall’s helmet, petting at his wet hair, and tucked his chin over Niall’s shoulder so their cheeks could press. Niall’s was so cold. Skin like ice. Harry hugged him closer, still petting over his face, still chanting his name over and over again trying to rouse some response. Harry could feel the thready pulse in Niall’s neck against his own cheek, faint and unsteady, almost a figment of Harry’s desperate imagination. When Harry pulled his hand away to better feel for Niall’s heartbeat, his palm was covered with blood, more of it mottled in Niall’s blonde hair, oozing down over his face from the gaping gash at his hairline.

 

That’s when Harry started crying, heavy sobs tearing his chest wide open. More wreckage surrendered to the sea.

 

“No! Don’t you dare leave me! Don’t you dare leave me blind. I need you, Niall. You’re the only family I have. You’re my brother. Don’t leave me. I need you. _Don’t leave me_ .” He kept repeating it like a prayer, a desperate devotion. Each incantation was more broken than the last. It quickly turned into a different plea to whatever deity was listening. _Take me. Take me instead_.

 

Niall’s head lolled back against Harry’s shoulder, mouth slightly agape and eyes still shut. They floated together amidst the fragmented bits of Georgia Rose’s remains scattered around them, green sea dye marking their place in the water for rescue. Harry didn’t notice it, didn’t notice anything. Not even the buzz of jets racing overhead or the rhythmic beat of the helicopter wings over the rush of blood in his ears and the crash of the waves around him. He just closed his eyes and tucked his head into Niall’s neck.

 

When the water started to blow around them, fanning out in a circle from where the helicopter turbines sent it spraying, Harry dared to open his eyes again.

 

A rescue swimmer dropped into the water, body straight like an arrow when he hit the surface and sliced right through. A moment later, his head bobbed back up again and he was swimming over to Harry and Niall.

 

“Royal Navy rescue!” the wet-suited, goggled man said when he finally reached them, hands instantly grabbing out for Niall. Harry batted his arm away, clutching tighter to Niall. “Sir, I’m here to help!”

 

“No!” Harry sobbed, burrowing back into Niall’s shoulder, feeling the wet fabric of Niall’s flight suit against his face. It didn’t smell like him. It wasn’t warm and welcoming, a place for Harry to rest his head when the world got a little too tough to take. It was cold and stinging. It smelled of sea, of salt. It made Harry’s stomach twist, nausea curling in the pit of his gut. But he still wouldn’t let go. It was still Niall.

 

“You need to let me take him!” the man yelled, voice barely able to be heard with the thunderous roar of the Angel above them.

 

Harry couldn’t let him go. He wouldn’t let him go. Not ever.

 

“I’m going to take him up first!”

 

Harry sobbed harder, tears washed away by the water lashing across his face. He tried to wrap his body more tightly around Niall’s as the rescue swimmer struggled to disentangle Harry’s arms. Harry tried to fight, tried to hold on, but he was so tired, so weak. He couldn’t hold on anymore.

 

He let go.

 

And then he was alone.

 

Harry was trapped in a place made of only pain as he continued to cry, watching the rescue swimmer drag Niall to the hook and fasten him in. Harry was helpless to do anything but watch as the cable hauled Niall’s limp body up to the helicopter, slumped like a string cut puppet. Harry clutched Niall’s helmet to his chest and waited for what felt like forever before Niall finally made it to the helicopter.

 

When he was pulled through the open door to safety, the rescue swimmer made his way back to Harry.

 

“Your turn!” he said, wrapping his hand around Harry’s arm, the one not holding Niall’s helmet. The swimmer towed him through the debris to where the hook was being dropped again.

 

Harry felt the swimmer strap him in, and this time, he didn’t fight. There was nothing left in him to try anyway.

 

The swimmer signaled up at the helicopter and Harry slowly started rising from the water. From this view, he could see the entirety of the wreck, could see the shambles of all his hopes and dreams torn apart and strewn like puzzle pieces that could never be put back together again no matter how hard Harry tried, no matter how desperately he wanted them to fit.

 

Georgia Rose was dead. She might not be the only casualty.

 

The sound of the helicopter’s turbines got louder the closer Harry got to the open side door. He felt two pairs of arms grab under his shoulders and haul him in the second he was within reach. Once inside the cabin, Harry’s eyes scanned in every direction, wild and desperate. They landed on Niall first, oxygen mask over his face with the steady hands of two rescuers already assessing the damage. Then Harry’s eyes locked with Commander Corden, looking over his shoulder from the cockpit seat. His visor was up and his face was grim. He wasn’t smiling today.

 

When the rescue swimmer that had been in the water with Harry and Niall finally made it back into the cabin, the door to the helicopter was slammed shut and Commander Corden’s eyes were back on his controls.

 

“Base at Aberdeen,” one of the rescuers with Niall called quickly to Commander Corden. “It’s the nearest military trauma center. Radio in, tell them time is critical. One survivor. One...body.”

 

“Affirmative,” Commander Corden said, pulling up on his controls, helicopter lurching to life and taking off for the nearby coast.

 

Harry dropped the helmet, fingers stiff from how tightly he’d been clutching it. Now free, he reached those fingers out, seeking until they found Niall’s limp, cold hand. He latched on, grip like a vice on Niall’s wrist. Another rescuer set to check over Harry, but he couldn’t answer her questions, didn’t even know what he was being asked. All that mattered was Niall. Even when the rescuers started compressions on Niall’s chest, opened his mouth to intubate, Harry’s fingers still held fast to Niall’s wrist.

 

This time he wasn’t letting go.

 

As they raced over the water, fifteen thousand feet above its surface with the cabin filled by the noise of the crew trying to save his brother, Harry could only make one thought take shape in his mind. He should have known. He should have known that testing altitudes so high would inevitably end only one way. Because all pilots knew that gravity could only be staved off for so long. It was the real enemy, so much more dangerous than any bogey or bandit. Gravity was the one in control, and Harry was no exception to its rules.

 

What goes up must come down.

 

 

  
xxxxx

 

 

Harry awoke a second time in as many hours, disoriented and dazed. There was no soft breeze on his face this time. Just the smell of antiseptic filling his nose, making him feel sick again. When he opened his eyes, harsh florescent lights met his gaze instead of sunlight.

 

But the first thing on his mind was still Niall.

 

_One survivor. One...body._

 

Harry sat up, stomach rolling with nausea so badly that he nearly retched and had to lay back down again.

 

“Oh thank God.”

 

Harry snapped his head in the direction of the voice and was met by the sight of Louis, rising from an arm chair pulled up next to the bed. Harry blinked, trying to bring him into focus, but there was something off, something not right about the face looking back at him. Harry kept blinking, but the distortion didn’t clear. Louis pulled down the guard rail and sat down on the edge of the bed.

 

Bed. Oxygen tube. IV drip. Beeping machines.

 

Hospital. Harry was in the hospital.

 

He distantly remembered being wheeled in on a gurney next to Niall, hand still locked down on Niall’s wrist. Niall’s flight suit had been torn open, paddles placed on his chest. It had taken three men and eventually a needle with sedatives stuck into Harry’s thigh to get him to let go. The last thing Harry remembers hearing was a doctor shouting, _“Clear!”_

 

“Niall,” Harry choked out, voice so raspy that he didn’t even recognize it. He swallowed heavily, trying again. “Niall.”

 

Louis’ face came into clearer view as he leaned closer, blue eyes dark today. Dark like the water that Harry had been sure would be his resting place only hours before.

 

It was then Harry realized what was wrong with Louis’ appearance. He was smaller than usual, frame weighted and curled in on itself. His hair was unusually disheveled, his cheekbones were even more pronounced, face drawn, and his skin was pale like the sickly off-white walls of the hospital. He was nearly unrecognizable from the man Harry knew him to be, the confident, ever smirking ball of fire that had been Harry’s only desire for the past five weeks. He didn’t know this version of Louis, and Louis was looking back at him like he was just as foreign.

 

Louis put a shaking hand on Harry’s chest, right over where Harry’s dog tags were tangled with the tube delivering oxygen to his nose. Harry’s heart was thumping just below, matched by the quiet beeps of the telemetry machine at his bedside. Louis’ hand was warm despite its shivers, burning his skin. Harry felt so cold. Niall had been cold too. Niall might still be cold.

 

“Niall,” Harry said, voice stronger this time, body already trying to sit up again.

 

“Shh. Shh, love. He’s...alive,” Louis said softly. Harry let himself repeat the words in his head a hundred times, echoing until the sound wore itself out. _Alive. Alive. Alive_. “He’s alive. You’re both alive.”

 

Niall was alive. Two survivors. No bodies. _Alive_.

 

“It was close,” Louis continued, voice also different somehow. “He was flatlined when they brought you both in from the chopper, but they were able to revive him. He’s in critical condition. His injuries...they were worse than yours.”

 

Louis gazed at Harry for another long moment, eyes slowly tracking over face, before he looked somberly over toward the table at the foot of Harry’s bed. Niall’s battered helmet was resting on it...orange, green and white with Niall’s call sign sliced in half. Harry stretched out the hand not attached to an IV, reaching for the helmet. Louis brought it closer and placed it at Harry’s side on the bed. Harry traced over the damages, traced over the proof of his failure, over the very real possibility of what it could have cost him. What it still might.

 

Louis was quiet for a long time, letting Harry stroke the cracked plastic.

 

“I need to see him.”

 

Louis shook his head. “He just got out of surgery.”

 

“Then I’ll wait by the door to his room,” Harry said, undeterred. He didn’t care. He didn’t care that his head was aching and that his legs didn’t quite feel like they’d be strong enough to support his weight. He didn’t give a shit that he was still strapped to a tangle of medical equipment probably vital to his well being. He didn’t give a fuck that Louis’ hand was still resting on his chest, pressing down a little more firmly to keep him supine. “I need to see him.”

 

“Harry. You only just woke up yourself. I hardly think it’s wise to stress your -”

 

Louis’ voice faded out at Harry’s expression. Harry didn’t say anything, just kept staring Louis down.

 

Louis finally closed his eyes in resignation. “Alright.”

 

After a considerable amount of effort, Louis helped Harry sit up at the side of the bed. They had to wait for another wave of nausea to pass before Harry felt ready to put his feet on the ground. The first few steps were horrible, having to cling to Louis to prevent himself from collapsing to the cold, hard linoleum. But then his steps got steadier, legs more willing to work. Harry detached himself from Louis, grabbing hold of his IV stand instead, rolling it next to him as his socked feet shuffled across his room.

 

The trip down the hall was endless. Harry had to stop for breaks every so often, but Louis was patient. He stopped when Harry did, somehow knowing better than to pester Harry with questions about how he was feeling or try to convince him to use one of the many wheelchairs parked at the nurse’s station. Louis just stood by and waited until Harry went on, only reaching out once to fix Harry’s hospital gown when it slipped off his shoulder.

 

By the time they made it to the doors of the ICU, Harry was exhausted. But he pushed on, allowing Louis to open the door for him because by this point, Harry wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it himself and stay upright. He forced himself through and scanned the small collection of rooms surrounding the central intensive care nurse’s station. There seemed to be only one room occupied at the moment, a flurry of medical professionals making their way in and out garbed in gowns and masks.

 

One of them caught sight of Harry as she stripped off her gown. Harry didn’t want to think about the fact that there was a pretty considerable amount of blood splattered on it’s front. She held up a finger to him, asking him to wait as she removed the rest of her protective gear before washing her hands and donning her white coat over her scrubs. She marched over to Harry as soon as she was done.

 

“Lt. Styles?” she asked.

 

Harry didn’t answer, his attention still trained on the room behind her where more blood splattered gowns were exiting.

 

The doctor looked beside Harry, and for a moment Harry had forgotten that Louis was even there. “I guess I didn’t make it clear enough that he was to stay in bed,” she said to Louis, giving him a look that only carried half-hearted reproach.

 

Louis shrugged. “He would have crawled here if he had to. Figured it was probably better he didn’t make the trek alone since it was going to happen anyway.”

 

The doctor nodded. “Yes. Unfortunately I can’t let you see him, Lt. Styles. Family only, I’m afraid. His next of kin have already been contacted and are on their way.”

 

Harry shook his head, sure he must have heard her wrong, sure she must be mistaken. Family only. In what world did Niall’s family not include Harry? Not this one. Not any other he could imagine.

 

Harry shook his head again, making to step around the doctor, feet already headed toward the room.

 

She swiftly stepped in front of him to block his path. “I’m very sorry, but I cannot let you see him. Not until I have clearance.”

 

Harry stood floundering, blankly staring at the room. Niall was there. Just inside. So close. Why couldn’t Harry see him?

 

“No,” Harry whispered.

 

“Clearance from whom exactly?” Louis asked sharply. Harry was still trying to get to the room, still trying to push past the doctor.

 

“I need clearance from a Naval officer of superior rank in order to allow access to anyone not strictly blood related,” the doctor told them both, eyes warily watching Harry as he became more visibly upset.

 

“ _No_ ,” Harry said again, voice louder. He took another few steps closer to the room.

 

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said again. This time she didn’t just step in his path, she halted him with a hand to his sternum. “Family only.”

 

Harry snapped.

 

It happened so quickly. Harry was staring into the doctor’s pity filled eyes one minute, and the next he was being swarmed by a cluster of nurses and doctors, all grabbing for him and trying to hold him back. A few steps closer. His IV pole clattered to the ground as he dragged bodies with him, pushing for the door. Pushing to get to Niall.

 

“I _am_ his family!” Harry yelled, arms swinging out at anyone in his way. “I’m his family!”

 

The tears started again as strong arms held him back, crushing against his chest. Soft whispers of a familiar voice breathed against his ear, yorkshire accent thick as it pleaded for him to calm down. But Harry ignored it.

 

“I’m his family,” Harry sobbed. “He’s my family. He’s my brother. We’re family.”

 

Harry fought. He struggled. He kicked and pushed, screamed and cried. But the more he did, the farther away from the room he got.

 

Again, Harry felt the stick of a needle through his skin. Then it was back to black.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Harry awoke again, but this time he wasn’t bleary and confused. This time he was raging with anger. Instantly his hands went to tear the covers away, lever himself up out of the bed. But his arms wouldn’t move. When he looked down, the soft restraints securing his wrists to the guard rails made him snarl.

 

“Harry.”

 

Louis was at his side again, and all Harry could think about was how Louis had held him back from seeing Niall. It had been Louis’ arms around his chest, Louis’ words in his ear telling him to _please stop fighting_. Louis was at least in part responsible for Harry being chained to his bloody bed like some kind of animal. Harry yanked at the restraints again, rattling the bedframe, and turned his head away from Louis. He didn’t want to see him right now. He only wanted to see Niall.

 

“Off. Get them off,” Harry gritted out, clenching his fingers into fists when he couldn’t pull himself free.

 

“I can’t,” Louis sighed, “Hospital protocol. Let me call for the doctor. I’m sure she wants to check in on you anyway.”

 

Harry snorted, still not looking at Louis as Louis pressed the call button above Harry’s bed, signaling for the doctor. They waited in charged silence until Louis finally broke it.

 

“Please don’t do that again,” Louis began softly, voice closer now. “I hate seeing you like that. I hate seeing the life drain from your eyes. I’ve seen it far too many times already.” It was then Harry finally broke down and turned toward him, previous bitterness crushed by the weight of Louis’ words. Louis’ eyes were just as heavy, cradled by deep, dark shadows. He looked as tired as Harry felt, eyes strained and lips raw from being worried between his teeth. Back was the same weary look Harry had seen the last time he’d been awake, Louis even more a stranger now than before. It was as if the past five weeks hadn’t even happened. It made Harry realize just how little he really knew about the man sitting next to him, the man he’d been so caught up by that he’d nearly thrown away his entire future. Ironic that just after he decided to get his priorities straight again, he lost everything that mattered to him anyway.

 

The fight washed from Harry’s system. He unclenched his palms and submitted to his shackles. At least for now.

 

A few moments later, the same doctor from the ICU strode through the door, white coat pristine and stethoscope looped around her neck. She offered a gentle smile. “Lieutenant. Nice to have you back with us. Again. I’m assuming you’d like out of those,” she said, pointing her chin at Harry’s restraints.

 

Harry nodded, figuring he had a better chance at freedom if he behaved himself. She stepped forward to the bed and gently started unfastening them. Harry’s wrists ached from where the fabric had pulled at his skin, likely to bruise, but Harry couldn’t care less.

 

“How is he?” he immediately asked the second the restraints were gone, quickly sitting up in the bed despite the momentary dizziness it caused. “Tell me, please. It’s the least you can do since you won’t let me see him.”

 

The doctor took a deep breath, watching Harry carefully for a moment. She held the restraints up. “Before you start swinging again, let me first tell you that I’ve secured clearance to allow you visitation. Once you’re more...stable.”

 

Harry was very well aware that she wasn’t talking about his physical stability.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said meekly, hot guilt flooding his cheeks, “for what happened in the ICU. But he’s…”

  
The doctor nodded. “I understand. Trust me, I didn’t want to have to be the one to deliver that news. But we have to follow regulations. You’re free to see him now, but before you do, I think I should inform you about his status. So you’re prepared.”

 

Harry’s stomach dropped, he took a shaky breath and was barely able to breathe out, “Okay.”

 

The doctor paused. “During ejection, his head made impact with the windscreen before it was fully blown away. His helmet protected him somewhat, but the force of the collision caused a subdural hematoma, bleeding in his brain. He underwent extensive surgery to evacuate the blood, which was successful, but we’ve had to put him into a medically induced coma as his body recovers from his injuries. I want to prepare you for the reality that we may be looking at permanent damage. Potentially even paralysis. It’s never easy to tell how complete a patient’s recovery will be with these types of injuries. It’s too soon to even guess.”

 

Harry laid back down in his bed, eyes closing, shutting out the world. He was numb, the words washing over him as the doctor spit out medical jargon, continued to talk about percentages and success stories of previous patients, but Harry tuned it all out, pain flooding his mind instead. He could still feel the heat from the explosion of the windscreen blowing off the top of Georgia Rose. Then the feel of the water, bone deep chill engulfing him, inside him, fucking everywhere. Niall cold and floating, eyes closed, silent for once. His voice crying out, “ _Oh God! Harry!”_ Those might be his last words.

 

_My fault. My fault. My fault._

 

Harry pressed his hands to his eyes and shook his head back and forth repeatedly. The hot tears leaked out from beneath his palms, wetting his cheeks. The one time he wished for sedation, it didn’t come.

 

“He’ll need you to be strong,” the doctor finally said gently, reaching out to touch Harry’s arm briefly. “He won’t be able to hear you or see you, but I’m a firm believer that patients in his state can _feel_ your presence. Positive energy benefits healing. It’s not exactly science, but that doesn’t make it any less true. When we’re looking for miracles, anything helps. Please keep that in mind. I would suggest taking a little time to allow yourself to process before you go to see him. He’s not the only one who went through trauma.”

 

Harry brought his hands down and looked at her blankly, as if he were remembering for the first time that he had also been a victim of the wreck, that he also had his own injuries. He had been so focused on Niall that he hadn’t even thought to ask about his own health.

 

As if she could sense it, the doctor shook her head. “Your injuries were minor. Many pilots don’t walk away from the type of crash you survived. Aside from a few lacerations and contusions, you’re in remarkably good shape. No stitches needed either. CTs came back clear and you haven’t shown any signs of lasting brain injury. The worst we’re looking at is a minor concussion, if that. We were even able to remove your IV while you were resting. You’re very lucky, Lieutenant.”

 

Harry felt the ghost of a touch against his hand over the bandage where the IV had been the last time he’d been awake. He looked down just in time to see Louis’ fingers brushing his skin ever so briefly before they were removed. When he looked at Louis, Louis’ gaze was focused on him, but it wasn’t directed at his eyes. It seemed to be just slightly above them.

 

The doctor continued, “Please keep up your fluid intake or we’ll be forced to put you back on the IV. But for now, just rest. You’ll be required to speak to a counselor as well, but from a medical standpoint, I have no reason not to clear you when you’re ready.”

 

Clear him? For what?

 

Louis was the one who answered. “Let’s not worry about that quite yet. He still needs time. There’s no reason to rush him.”

 

The doctor nodded quickly. “Of course not. I’ll be around to check back in after I make my rounds. Take some time and then go see your friend...um, I mean your brother,” she corrected softly, eyes remorseful. “The rest of his family should be arriving soon as well. I’ll give you all the latest update when they get here.”

 

With that, the doctor left the room with the restraints in her hand.

 

“Who was it?” Harry asked once they were alone again. Harry wanted a face, a name for the enemy. He wanted someone at which to direct his anger because right now it was all on himself, and it was tearing him apart. “It was a MiG, right? Was it the Russians?”

 

“No,” Louis said, shaking his head. “That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out. The Russian military is denying involvement, says the plane was not on government sanctioned orders, not even in active duty. This isn’t the first incident, though. There have been a whole string of them that we’ve been monitoring over the past few weeks. This one just happens to be over previously neutral air space, which doesn’t bode well for the situation. This is the first time a British plane was targeted.”

  
Harry immediately remembered the call over the radio to abort the training exercise because of a hostile threat. Spider going into panic and Harry trying to help him. He remembered the MiG, sinister and aggressive, playing with them like a cat pinning a mouse’s tail. It hadn’t taken the shot, but it had wanted them to know it was there. That it was willing and able.

 

“Spider? Ginger?” Harry asked suddenly. He hadn’t thought about that either. Harry and Niall hadn’t been the only pilots up there.

 

“They’re okay. Back-up came in time to chase off the bandit before it got to them. Neither of them are injured.”

 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He was thankful his friends were safe. He couldn’t stand the thought of more loss. He didn’t blame Spider. It would be easy to do that, but Harry knew just how terrifying it had all been, how much stress Spider had been under. Harry just felt bad because he knew Spider would blame himself, just as Harry would do...was doing. It was only natural for a pilot to look at himself first when things went wrong. It was the way they were wired. Unavoidable.

 

“He quit, by the way. Spider. I think what happened really shook him up. Put things into perspective,” Louis added. “I don’t know if you knew, but Spider has pilot in his blood too. His Dad and brother are in the service. It was the reason he flew. He finally figured that out, I think. Realized he didn’t want to spend his whole life chasing something he never really wanted for himself. I think he’ll be better off. He’ll be happier. He wanted to come by to see you, but figured it was best to give you some time. Told me to tell you that he feels horrible about what happened. That he’s sorry.”

 

“Not his fault,” Harry immediately said.

 

Louis reached his hand out again, resting it on Harry’s. “It’s not yours either.”

 

_Yes it is._

 

Harry looked down at their hands again, watching the way Louis’ thumb was brushing over his wrist. Louis was touching him, but he still seemed distant, somehow just out of reach. There was something in his eyes that was uncertain, guarded. Harry was about to instinctively turn his hand over to link their fingers, close that last bit of space, when Commander Winston marched through the door without so much as a knock. Louis visibly stiffened and pulled away, hand instantly dropping from Harry’s. Now Harry understood. They were still keeping up appearances. They were no more free here than they’d been on the carrier. There were still eyes watching. Louis was still, first and foremost, Harry’s instructor. As they had agreed upon. Before Harry’s life went spiralling out of control.

 

“Tomlinson,” Commander Winston greeted, voice biting and sharp, not even addressing Harry lying in the bed. “Surprise finding you here.”

 

Louis’ eyes narrowed, body tensing like a compressed coil. “Checking in on a recruit. I hardly think that’s enough for dishonorable discharge.”

 

Commander Winston smirked. “No. But if I recall, these weren’t your orders from the Captain. He wasn’t too pleased to hear that you were still at the hospital when you called to ask about granting Lt. Styles permission to see his RIO.”

 

Harry’s hackles rose. He’d never been particularly fond of Commander Winston, but this was a new level of aggression from him that Harry had not previously seen. He wondered at the harsh tone, wondered why it seemed to be directed at Louis, and why Louis was equally terse in his reply.

 

Commander Winston gave Harry a once-over, the kind of look he’d give a stray shelter dog before he passed it’s cage, writing it off before looking for a healthier option. “I’m just here to inform Lt. Styles about the hearing on Thursday to review the incident. He’s on DNIF until the board makes their decision.”

 

Harry’s mouth went dry. Review board. That meant that he was going to have to talk about what happened. Extensively. Rehash every single detail in front of a panel of starch collared veterans looking down on him with their breast pockets full of pins commemorating their accolades. Judging him for his mistakes...mistakes they’d never make themselves. Harry was feeling sick again.

 

Louis saw Harry’s reaction and huffed. “Wonderful. Your news has been delivered. Now you can go crawling back to master’s side. I’ll keep my free will and stay here a while longer, if it’s all the same to you. He hasn’t yanked my choker chain yet.”

 

“In due time,” Commander Winston said before nodding once at Harry and then leaving the way he’d come.

 

Louis sighed heavily and slumped back down into his seat as soon as he was gone. “God, I really hate that wanker,” he muttered tiredly.

 

Harry would ask the reason behind Louis’ irrefutable contempt, but there were much more pressing matters at hand. It was clear that the world wasn’t going to wait for Harry to get his shit together. He didn’t have that luxury. But before he dealt with any of that, he had somewhere more important to be.

 

“I’m ready to see him now,” Harry said quietly, not quite sure that he really was, but he figured he was as ready as he’d ever be.

 

Louis sat up in his chair, eyes looking over Harry, surveying if what he said was true. If Harry was calm enough, steady enough.

 

“Do you want me to go with you?” Louis asked hesitantly. Harry heard it differently. _Do you need me to go with you?_

 

Harry’s first instinct was to say no. That he should do this alone. Deserved to do it alone. But he found himself nodding anyway. Then he couldn’t manage to take it back.

 

“Okay,” Louis murmured.

 

This time, Harry had an easier time getting out of bed. He didn’t lean on Louis, but that didn’t mean that Louis’ presence wasn’t just as steadying as it had been that first time Harry had made the trip to the ICU. Except this time, nothing would hold him back from seeing Niall.

 

As they walked the long hallway, Louis’ hand brushed against Harry’s. Harry looked down for a moment, Louis’ heavily tattooed right arm against Harry’s equally tattooed left. So close. But Harry wouldn’t reach out this time. Couldn’t. And neither could Louis, judging by the way Louis was also looking down at their hands.

 

They looked up at one another just as they reached the ICU doors. They stopped briefly, just staring at eachother. Louis opened his mouth to speak, eyes looking suddenly pained. He closed his mouth before opening it again.

 

“It could have been you. This whole time, that’s all I’ve been thinking. I know it’s selfish. Insensitive. But I’m so fucking glad you’re not in there too,” Louis said, breaking Harry’s eye contact and looking through the glass doors of the ICU. “God, I don’t know what I would have done. When they said it was you…that you’d gone down…I was right back...it was like I was...and I never got the chance to tell you...”

 

Louis stopped, taking a step back. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they were still clouded, voice still gravely when he said, “I care, you know. About you.”

 

Harry looked away. He ignored Louis’ sentiments, ignored the words that just days ago would have made his entire body feel like it could soar as high as Georgia Rose. Now they felt cheap, empty. Undeserved.

 

“I’m sorry. But I can’t think about that right now when my best mate’s in there fighting for his life. Because of me.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Louis tried again, and Harry was no more willing to accept that this time than he’d been the last. He pushed through the doors to the ICU instead, heading for Niall’s room. He marched right past the nurses’ station, afraid if he stopped for even a second, they’d try to keep him away again. Louis was quick on his heels, coming to a sudden halt when Harry finally stopped right in front of Niall’s room. The automatic doors slid open, but Harry couldn’t make himself go through when he saw Niall for the first time.

 

“Oh my God,” Harry whispered.

 

Harry barely recognized the body lying in the bed before him, so small and fragile amidst the tangle of wires and tubes attached from all directions. His knees almost buckled, more tears welling up in his eyes. He took one step into the room, each one after taking more effort than the last, until he stood at the bottom of the bed. He couldn’t breathe. His chest was tight, crushing everything inside him...his lungs, his heart. Harry was wheezing, rubbing at his sternum, trying to ease the pressure that stood the very real risk of knocking him out. That might not be the worst case right now, because Harry didn’t want to be seeing what was in front of him. Didn’t want this to be his reality.

 

Niall’s face was an amalgam of bruises, deep purple with his eyes swollen shut, head steadied by the collar around his neck. The tube taped between his lips pumped oxygen into his lungs from the ventilator at his bedside while his chest rose and fell rhythmically with each puff from the machine, an unnatural motion making his ribs poke out sharply under his gown. A soft cast covered Niall’s right ankle, propped up on a pillow. Another brace was protecting his left wrist up to the elbow, looking bent at an inhuman angle. Wires snaked out from his hospital gown, leads attached to his chest monitoring his vitals. IV poles and machines of which Harry couldn’t even begin to guess the function cluttered the room, all critical to keeping the boy in the bed from slipping away. The machines were more alive than Niall seemed himself.

 

And his head. Harry inched around the bed until he was as close to Niall as he dared to get. His head was wrapped with white gauze, but Harry could see that half of Niall’s head had been shaved down to the scalp, sunny blonde hair gone. Harry reached out toward Niall, but couldn’t bring himself to touch, terrified that he would upset the delicate balance that Niall’s very existence was clinging to at the moment.

 

Harry stood and just watched, counted Niall’s breaths. When he got to fifty, Louis’ voice made him lose track.

 

“Harry,” Louis said, as if it hadn’t been the first time he said it. Harry turned around to see Louis standing just inside the room, a nurse at his side. “She said she needs to step in to change his dressings,” Louis finished, words quiet.

 

Harry looked back at Niall’s gauze covered head and could see the faint soak of blood staining the pristine white of the wrapping. He took a step back and let the nurse through to carry out her duties. Harry forced himself to watch as she carefully unwrapped the gauze to inspect the wound. Harry wasn’t prepared for the gruesome incision sliced into Niall’s scalp, held together by staples. He took a shaky breath and his entire body broke out in shivers.

 

This room was so cold. Too cold. Harry wanted to leave. He wanted to _run_. But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t dare.

 

The nurse was efficient as she disinfected the wound and re-wrapped the fresh gauze before adjusting a few of Niall’s wires and IVs. She left just as quietly as she’d come. Harry didn’t really notice. He was back to counting Niall’s breaths, pacing his own against them.

 

He’d reached twenty this time before he felt Louis’ hand on his back. “He’s strong. Anyone who knows him even for a second can tell you that. He can get through this. But you need to as well. And part of that is allowing yourself forgiveness. It won’t come easy, but it’s what he would have wanted...would want.”

 

Harry’s eyes did not stray from Niall. He could feel the anger bubbling up inside of him, bitter like acid on his tongue. Harry couldn’t control it, couldn’t trap it down. Forgiveness? Harry would never be able to grant himself that mercy. How dare Louis ask that of him.

 

Harry lashed out, words a mess just like his thoughts. “He was my RIO…my friend…my…my _family_ . It was my job to keep him safe. My responsibility. Down here and up there. And I failed. I fucking _failed_! Now look at him. Look!”

 

Niall’s monitors beeped more quickly, blip of his heart rhythm unsteady and erratic.

 

Louis did look, but his eyes were back on Harry a moment later.

 

“What the fuck do you know about losing someone you love? Having their blood on your hands? How do I _forgive_ myself for that?” Harry hissed, the word sounding like a curse. “ How the hell can you keep saying that this isn’t my fault?”

 

“Because it’s not!” Louis said, voice just as desperate. “We all know the risks every time we launch off the back of that goddamn carrier. Things happen. Horrible, unfortunate, _unfair_ things. To all of us, in some way or another. But it’s for a greater cause. It’s a higher calling. And it comes with a price that we have no choice but to pay. If we all carried our guilt with us, we’d never be able to fly. Sometimes that means letting go, understanding that blame is useless when mistakes are inevitable. You have to let go. You can’t let yourself die with everyone you lose.”

 

“He’s not dead!” Harry yelled. He didn’t need to finish with “ _yet_ ,” for them both to feel its threat.

 

After a pause, Louis quietly replied, “I wasn’t talking about Niall.”

 

“Get out.” Harry turned his back on Louis. He was done with this conversation. Done with him.

 

“Harry please, let me…”

 

“I said _get out_ ,” Harry barked, voice drawing worried looks from a few nurses at the station just outside the door.

 

When Louis made no move to leave, Harry turned his head toward him. A long moment of silence expanded between them, filled only by the whirl and beep of Niall’s machines. Harry was seething, but Louis’ eyes were calm, understanding. More things Harry didn’t deserve.

 

“I’ll be here if you need me,” Louis finally said, taking a few steps forward until he was right in front of Harry. He reached his hand up and traced his fingertips over Harry’s forehead, just above his left brow. “When you’re ready.”

 

Harry didn’t watch him leave, instead turning back to Niall. He stood for a few minutes until his legs felt like they might collapse from under him, then he went for the chair in the corner of the room. Just as he was about to drag it over to Niall’s bedside, he caught sight of his reflection in the glass of the door. His body stuttered to a stop, arms half reaching for the chair still. But his eyes were on the devastated face looking back at him that startlingly resembled his own. A jagged cut slicing through the hair of his left brow, held together by white steri strips, drew his attention...a wound he had no recollection of receiving. Like Niall, his own face was puffy and bruised, blood vessels broken by the wind. Eyes bloodshot. He looked like a corpse, pale and damaged. But it was no match for Niall. At least Harry was walking, talking... _breathing_...on his own. A few cuts, even when they turned to scars, seemed like a small price to pay when it had cost someone else so much more.

 

Harry looked away from his reflection, unable to stare into those hollow green eyes anymore, and tugged the chair resolutely over to Niall’s bed. He sat down and settled in.

  
Back to counting breaths. One...Two...Three...Thirty...Three Hundred...Three Thousand…

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

It didn’t take long for the hospital staff to realize that short of reinstating the soft restraints, there was no keeping Harry from Niall’s side. He took up post at Niall’s bedside, hours spent in quiet vigil. Nurse after nurse kept coming through, pestering Harry to go back to his own room to rest, even succeeding in actually forcing him there a few times. But within minutes, Harry would be sneaking out again, down the winding halls to the ICU and right back to Niall. Eventually they just let him stay, bringing his medications and meals to Niall’s room instead when they did their rounds. Not that Harry could stomach a single bite. Not when Niall was being fed through a fucking tube, sickly brown sludge pumping into his stomach to keep him nourished. And the meds...Harry refused those too despite the heavy ache that wracked his body. He didn’t deserve the blissful numbness the pills would provide. He deserved the pain. He deserved the hurt. So he would hurt for Niall. Because Niall couldn’t feel anything right now.

 

With one hand on Niall and the other on the busted helmet Harry had dragged from his room, Harry waited. For what he wasn’t quite sure. He waited for Niall to wake, waited for the ache to subside, waited for some reprieve from this nightmare. But none of it came. The pain took up so much space, edging everything else out. It replaced the beating of Harry’s heart even, thrumming through his arteries and veins in a relentlessly slow pace, enough to keep him alive, but not enough to let him live.

 

Minutes became hours, night gave way to dawn. Harry didn’t close his eyes once. He drifted, mind lost like a wayward ship at sea, but he didn’t dare sleep...too afraid that if he did, he’d wake up and Niall would be gone, stolen from him in a moment of weakness. He hadn’t even dared to look away from Niall when the nurses brought him some real clothes to change into so that he didn’t have to wear the thin hospital gown any more. He’d just changed into the too-short sweat pants and t-shirt and sat right back down, but not before laying his hospital gown over Niall for another layer of warmth. Niall never seemed to be warm enough anymore.

 

By Tuesday afternoon, Harry was so bleary and exhausted from his round the clock watch that he almost missed the bustle of feet coming down the hallway, loud and lilted voices carrying with it.

 

“Where is he? Where’s my baby?” a slightly hysterical female voice cried.

 

Harry sat up and rubbed at his eyes with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Niall’s forearm, where it had been for the past few hours. Vision less fuzzy, he looked to the doorway in time to see Niall’s mother standing in quiet shock through the glass panes, the rest of Niall’s family behind her in equal states. With her blonde hair a mess and her eyes rimmed red, her hands were raised to her mouth, tears already starting to track down her cheeks. Harry was overwhelmed by the wave of guilt that crashed over him so suddenly that it nearly took him under. He squeezed Niall’s forearm, praying once again that he could take Niall’s place, if only to spare the unbearable agony in Molly Horan’s eyes.

 

The door slid open almost soundlessly. With soft steps, Molly approached the bed.

 

“My baby,” Molly whispered, voice wavering. Harry forced himself to watch as she reached out a tentative hand to brush over Niall’s face. Her fingers traced over his cheekbone, up to the edge of the cotton wrapping circling his head. She thumbed at the delicate skin beneath his eyes, sunken and shadowed. Her hand dropped to his chest, feeling the shallow rise and fall of his ribs as the ventilator breathed for him, feeling the weak thud of his heart. “My boy.”

 

Harry closed his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath as he listened to her weep for her son. Time was stretched endlessly as her cries ripped at his heart. It was too much. He shouldn’t be here. The person responsible for Niall being like this shouldn’t get to grieve with those who truly had that right. Harry should go. Niall’s family shouldn’t have to look him in the eyes and pretend they didn’t wish it was him in the bed instead of their own flesh and blood.

 

Lost in his own sorrow, he startled at the delicate brush of a hand through his hair, then he crumpled. His body wilted forward, arms already reaching out and wrapping themselves around the soft frame in front of him. Warm arms circled his shoulders, petting at his tangled curls, at the shuddering expanse of his back. Harry curled into the touch, greedy for the contact that he knew he didn’t deserve. Selfish for the comfort he knew he shouldn’t be given.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Sorry. So sorry. Sorry.” The pleas gave way to broken sobs that never seemed to end, enough salty tears dripping from Harry’s eyes to drain an ocean. “S-ss-sorry,” Harry mumbled into the soft fabric of Molly’s shirt, face pressed to her stomach. He inhaled the scent of her clothes beneath his cheek, smell so familiar to him, so much like Niall’s that it made his chest clutch again in pain.

 

Molly just held him, let him cry against her until he wore himself out, voice too hoarse to produce words. Then she pulled back just enough to tip Harry’s face up with a finger beneath his chin. Her eyes were just as full of tears as his own. She touched the scar on Harry’s forehead, fingers brushing over the strips patching his skin together.

 

“My babies,” she murmured. “I thought I’d lost both of you.”

 

Before Harry could say anything, a gentle knock sounded on the frame of the door. All eyes in the room turned to watch the doctor step through. She offered a small smile for Niall’s family.

 

“I’m assuming from the likeness that you’re Lt. Horan’s family?” she asked.

 

Molly gently separated from Harry. She brushed her hands over her face to wipe away the tears. “Yes. We’re his family. Are you one of his doctors?” she asked, voice more even now.

 

The doctor nodded and extended her hand. “My name is Dr. Sheila Huxley. I’m sorry to be meeting you under such terms.”

 

Molly accepted her hand to shake. Dr. Huxley went around the room to shake the hands of Niall’s father and all his siblings, near carbon copies of Niall with their blonde hair and sky blue eyes. When she got to Harry, she merely rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment in greeting before turning to address the room. “Now that you’re all here, I can give you the latest on his status.”

 

She went on to tell them what she had told Harry yesterday. There wasn’t much in the way of updates, just that Niall was steady, but still critical. There was still no prediction on his prognosis, but Harry could tell by the doctor’s tone that the optimism she’d held yesterday was brighter than what she had today.

 

“I think it might be wise at this stage for you to consider your wishes... _his_ wishes,” Dr. Huxley said softly after giving them the news. “He’s been on the ventilator for over twenty four hours now. We don’t need to make any decisions yet, but eventually if things don’t change, we’ll need to have a plan. Please take your time and let me know if you need anything or have any questions.”

 

Molly looked to her husband, reaching her hand out for his. He gripped it firmly and pulled her into his side. “Thank you, Doctor,” he said, Molly nodding with him.

 

When Dr. Huxley left, Niall’s family all crowded around the bed, each taking turns stroking Niall’s cheeks or pressing kisses to his bandaged forehead. Harry stood back from them, feeling every bit the outsider to this picture. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t want to leave, but he knew he couldn’t stay.

 

He took another step back, but Molly turned to him before he could reach the door.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for keeping him safe. Thank you for bringing him back to me. No matter what happens from here, I got to see him. I get to be here with him. That’s because of you.”

 

Harry looked down at Niall, surrounded by his family, lying motionless in the hospital bed. He hated Niall sometimes. Really truly wanted to cause Niall bodily harm when he got them in trouble or made Harry’s life a living hell with his wild antics and escapades. But really, most of the time, Harry wasn’t sure he could survive without him. Niall was just as much a part of Harry as his pulse. Just as much a part of him as the tattoos inked into his skin. Harry wasn’t really sure what he believed when it came to the concept of soulmates. He had always thought it held an unrealistic ideal of love and dependence that took away all individual meaning to life. But he did know one thing for certain. If a soulmate was someone destined to walk through life at your side and share with you your every joy and every fear, then Niall had certainly claimed part of Harry’s soul. And he would take it with him wherever he went...whenever he went.

 

Molly gave Harry a watery smile and then turned back to Niall, settling down into Harry’s chair so that she could now take over watch. Harry continued to take steps back out of the room until he was in the hallway. He couldn’t bear the thought of going back to his own lonely room, so he pressed his back to the wall and let his body slide down its surface until he landed in a heap on the ground. Exhaustion took over so suddenly Harry wondered if he’d been sedated again. There was no needle prick this time, but the second Harry’s head settled back against the cold, hard wall behind him, he was out once again.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

_“You can’t be serious.”_

 

_Harry closed his eyes and clenched his jaw tightly shut, hands still packing his clothes into the tattered rucksack on his bed. “Mum, please don’t.”_

 

_The shirt he was about to add to pack was ripped from his hands. “You’re not going,” she said firmly despite the tears on her cheeks. Harry wasn’t sure there had been a time in the past few weeks where her cheeks had been dry. Ever since the men in uniform had walked up their front path and placed the folded flag in her hands, she’d been in tears...and Harry only seemed to be adding to them no matter what he did._

 

_Harry straightened his spine, feeling each vertebrae click into place. He could not have this battle again. He had already fought it countless times over the past two weeks. Each time he’d had this fight with her, the outcome had been no different. Harry wasn’t sure why his mum thought this time would be the one that finally changed his mind. He was going. He’d signed the papers at the nearest recruitment station, had signed them right after he’d left the funeral still in his black suit and tie. He’d had them in his hand when he walked into the house to find his mother tearing down every single picture and Naval award in his father’s office. The broken trophies and picture frames were still littered across the floor, neither wanting to step foot in that minefield of memories again to clean it up._

 

_Harry picked up another shirt from the pile on his bed and stuffed it into the rucksack. “I need to go.”_

 

_“No,” she whimpered, then stronger, “No!”_

 

_Harry turned to her, watching her pull her fingers through her dark hair, eyes wide and pained. “I’m sorry - ” he started, but she was already shaking her head._

 

_“Why? Just please tell me why,” she begged. “After what happened...why are you doing this?”_

 

_Harry didn’t have an answer now. At least, not the same answer he’d always had. There was more to it now, even more reason for him to be doing this. But his mum wouldn’t understand, so he didn’t say anything. He just kept packing._

 

_When he turned away from her, she lost it. She’d been hanging from a thread since the day of the funeral. That last shred snapped with one horrible cry. She shoved at Harry’s shoulder, knocking his rucksack to the ground._

 

_“I won’t watch you throw away your life like he did!” she shouted at him. “I won’t watch you abandon your family for the sake of some misguided allegiance to your country above all else! If you do this, if you walk out that door, you’re as good as gone. Just like he is.”_

 

_Harry sat down on his bed, looking down at the spilled contents of his rucksack._

 

_“I’m sorry, Mum. I don’t expect you to understand or support it, but I do ask that you let me make this decision for myself. I love you. But I have to do this. This is my choice.”_

 

_She shook her head, unable to say another word. More tears._

 

_“I’ll come back,” he tried, reaching a hand out to her. “I promise.”_

 

_She looked at him for a long moment, as if she barely recognized him...or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe she was seeing someone else in his eyes. Someone else who’d made that same promise._

 

_“No. You won’t,” she whispered._

 

_She left the room, turning on her heel and leaving Harry standing in her wake, still holding a half-folded shirt in his hands. He heard the door to her bedroom slam shut, shaking the picture frames on the walls of his room. One crashed down to the ground, and Harry looked over to see the busted frame in a scatter of glass on the floor. Harry didn’t have to see the picture to know which one it was. Harry had been so happy that day, his first flight with Dad. Seven years old. Missing teeth in the middle of a big smile. Two pairs of identical green eyes creased at the corners, nearly hidden by shaggy, dark waves. It was a moment eternally capturing Harry’s first realization of what he wanted to do with his life. It was no less true today than it had been all those years ago._

 

_Harry stooped down to the broken picture frame and turned it over, running his finger over the cracked glass._

 

_“I know you didn’t want to leave us,” Harry told the still face in the frame, feeling his own tears pricking at his eyes. “I’m going to find out what happened, Dad. I swear I won’t stop until I do. I promise.”_

 

_Harry reached up his hand and palmed the paper plane pendant, setting the picture frame down on the ground again in it’s bed of glass. He quickly and quietly finished packing, slinging his pack over his back when he was done and leaving his room._

 

_As he passed down the hallway, he stopped in front of his mother’s closed door. He pressed a hand to its surface, leaning his head against it. From just inside, he could hear his mother’s soft sobs, a broken sound that he knew would probably haunt him for the rest of his life. It was something he would have to learn to carry, because her tears couldn’t change the future any more than they could the past. Maybe it was best this way. Maybe it was best that she get all the grieving done at once._

  
Harry didn’t understand it then, wouldn’t fully understand it until years later after it was already too late. He was acutely aware now that the day he lost his dad, he lost his mum too. And in some ways, he lost himself. Harry had dealt with that loss by chasing ghosts. His mum had dealt with it by turning her son into one. Neither had been right, but now Harry was starting to think that maybe his mother’s method of coping saved her from a world of pain that Harry now wished he could also escape. But Harry had made his choices. Now all that was left to do was suffer the consequences. And he still hadn’t managed to keep any of his promises.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Harry awoke to the gentle nudge of a shoulder against his own, stirring him out of his dreams. He swore for a moment he could still hear the sounds of his mother’s sobs, but then the low hum of the hospital filled his senses, causing everything else to fade.

 

“Here,” a voice spoke, pressing something warm into his limp hands. Harry barely had time to close his fingers around the hot cup of steaming coffee to keep it from spilling over his lap. “Don’t ask questions, just drink.”

 

Harry blinked his eyes open and was lost for a moment. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Flushed cheeks. Niall was looking back at him. Niall was seated in his usual place at Harry’s side, legs stretched out from the wall, always a few inches shorter than Harry’s. Harry shook his head, blinking his eyes repeatedly, only to realize his mistake.

 

“Jamesie,” Harry rasped.

 

Niall’s eldest brother nudged his shoulder again. “Come on, mate. Drink. Don’t let Ma catch you out here like this. You look like a zombie.”

 

“Don’t feel much better,” Harry mumbled before raising the cup to his lips. He took a sip and winced at the taste. He shot Jamesie a skeptical look. Jamesie just shrugged in a way that was far too similar to his brother.

 

“Ni always said a good ol’ cup of Irish coffee could wake the dead.”

 

Harry looked down at the drink in his hand. He didn’t know where Jamesie had gotten the alcohol, but he wasn’t about to question it. He took another sip and could already feel it warming him from the inside out. He shuddered at the sudden change in temperature.

 

“How long was I out?” Harry asked, stretching his back, gritting his teeth at the cracks and pops that sounded off as he moved from his spot hunched over on the floor.

 

“Dunno. Not long. Ma’s been asking about you. She wants to talk to you...get your input on what to do like the doc said.”

 

Harry shook his head. “I don’t get a say.”

 

Jamesie elbowed him, nearly knocking the coffee out of his hand. “What are ya talkin’ about? Sure ya do. You’re just as much his brother as I am. Probably more, if I’m honest.”

 

Harry set the coffee down on the ground and slowly started the process to stand. Once he was up, he looked back into the room across the hallway where Niall’s family was still congregated.

 

“He’d want you in there with us,” Jamesie said, standing too. He handed Harry back his coffee and then stepped away. “He’d want you with Ma.”

 

Harry swallowed around the lump sitting heavy in his throat.

 

“We’re all gonna head down to the cafeteria for a bit, get a fresh cup,” Jamesie told him, pointing at Harry’s cup and patting the flask in his jacket pocket. “Ma’s gonna stay with him. She could use some company.”

 

Jamesie slapped his shoulder once before joining the rest of his siblings and their father, who had just emerged from the room. They all gave Harry similar pats and nods as they filed past until it was just Harry left in the hallway. He could still see Molly sitting in the chair at Niall’s side, hand wrapping Niall’s own. Her lips were moving, talking to Niall as if he could hear her.

 

Harry took a deep breath and stepped forward into the room. He knocked once on the door and Molly turned to him, pausing her one way conversation to give Harry a gentle nod inviting him in. Her eyes were dried now but still a bit red. She reached her free hand out for Harry, drawing him closer until he could perch himself on the armrest of her chair, both of them facing Niall’s bed.

 

“Any news?” Harry asked.

 

Molly shook her head. “No changes. But he’s still here. That’s enough reason for hope.”

 

Harry wanted to believe that too. It was just so hard when he looked at Niall, seeming all the more frail every moment he spent in his medically fueled slumber.

 

“I’m so...I’m just so sorr-” Harry started, but Molly cut him off by resting a hand on his knee.

 

“I love you, dear. You know I do. But if you don’t stop apologizing, you’ll no longer be welcome at the Horan household for holidays. I’ll tell Niall to leave you on base while he comes home to enjoy a good home cooked meal without you. And I know how much you love my Irish stew,” Molly tutted, giving Harry a watery smile.

 

Harry laughed wetly, clenching his jaw to keep from crying again. He’d spent so many holidays with the Horans, but it was likely that tradition would end, no matter how much Molly promised otherwise. Without Niall, Harry wouldn’t have any right to sit at their table anymore.

 

Molly squeezed Harry’s knee. “I know what you’re thinking,” she told him.

 

“That I might need to get an _‘I love my Ma_ ’ tattoo on me bum to match Niall’s?” Harry tried to joke, even though the humor fell flat.

 

Molly still indulged him with a soft laugh. “My little shamrock better not have defiled his body with one of those nasty things,” she said, brushing a hand over Niall’s pristine arm before glaring at Harry’s heavily inked one. “Lord knows I’ve already given you enough grief about yours. He might follow you into a dogfight without question, but he’s too smart to follow your lead when it comes to tattoos. He knows I’d take a potato peeler to his hide if he dared.”

 

It felt nice to talk about Niall this way. Like he was still here. Like he was _going_ to be here. Harry just wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. He would do his best, though, for Niall’s mother’s sake. Whatever she needed to cope, he would provide, no matter the personal cost.

 

She looked up at Harry, smile turning into a frown. “Don’t do that,” she told him.

 

“Do what?” he asked.

 

“Think about him like he’s already gone.”

 

Harry should have known that Niall had inherited his uncanny ability to read people from somewhere.

 

Molly reached up to cup Harry’s cheek. “I won’t imagine a world without him in it. I won’t give thought to the idea of him not being at your side...at your six. If something should happen, it won’t hurt less by thinking the worst now. So I’m not going to. You shouldn’t either. He wouldn’t want you to.”

 

Harry looked over at his RIO and tried to see him as he always remembered him, happy, laughing, chattering away. _Alive_. Niall had always been larger than life. Now he just looked lifeless. Harry wasn’t sure he had much life left in him either.

 

Molly patted Harry’s cheek before reaching out to rest her hand over Niall’s helmet. “He loved flying with you. But he always knew that it couldn’t last forever. Still, that’s no reason to give it all up now. You’re far from done, Harry.”

 

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know when I stopped being able to function without him always watching my six.”

 

Harry could feel the loss like a severed limb, phantom pain burning despite the fact that it’s source was gone...or as close to being gone as one could get.

 

Molly closed her eyes and her lips curled up gently at the edges, the smile of a mother, something Harry hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Oh my darling, he doesn’t need to be strapped in the seat behind you for him to do that. He’ll always look out for you, no matter the altitude. As I know you’ll do for him. As you’ve already done.”

 

Harry wanted to believe her, but the pain was still too fresh. He suddenly felt so weary and tired, exhaustion hitting again with vicious force. It was killing Harry to leave, but he didn’t want to intrude any further on Niall’s family. Harry stood up slowly, taking the chance to study Niall, the ever present terror screaming at him that this could be the last time. But Harry tried to be positive, as Molly had asked, tried to hold onto the precious memories instead of the ones from the past day that he’d much rather forget.

 

He hadn’t taken a single step before Molly reached a hand out for him. “He needs the people who love him most now more than ever. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they have to be anchored to his side. When the time comes, you can’t be afraid. You’ve got to be ready...with or without him.”

 

Molly was the one to leave in the end, guiding Harry down into her vacated seat before she went off in search of the rest of the Horan clan. Harry was alone with Niall again, like they’d been for the past countless hours and even more before that. So much time together spent in solitude up in a cockpit zipping through the clouds. So many moments spent curled in a cramped bed together back in basic, talking about all their plans for the future. And now here they were again, still together but farther apart than they’d ever been.

  
He found the rhythm of Niall’s breaths and started the count at one again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's worth mentioning that I love Niall to pieces. Please don't start sharpening your pitchforks to come after me just yet. If you want to vent, feel free to comment below or come find me on Tumblr (RealityBetterThanFiction). Love to you all!
> 
>  
> 
> Cheers!


	9. Premier Delta (HMS Elizabeth) - Week Five - (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry continues to deal with the fallout of the crash as week five and six pass at Premier Delta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long delay. I'm the worst, I know! And again, apologies in advance for more angst, but bear with me, squadron!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS!! Flashbacks and symptoms similar to PTSD in this chapter. Please be safe!
> 
> Huge thanks to my duo of fantastic RIOs, CueTheTommo and Bubblymar, who have helped mold this story into something of which I can be proud. It would be a wreck without them (as would I, most likely). Major love to them both.
> 
> This chapter goes out to Cyberlouser, who has made me laugh all week with her *gentle* nudges on Tumblr to get my butt writing! You make me smile, my dear!
> 
>  
> 
> xxxxx
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy and thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:
> 
> Infinity - One Direction (umm....I'm sobbing.)
> 
> Unsteady - X Ambassadors

**RealityBetterThanFiction’s Crash-Course to Aviation:**

 

 

The first quote of this chapter is not my own creation. I'm not that good a writer! It's actually a snippet of the Airman's Hymn, a traditional Royal Navy hymn set to the tune of the better known Naval Hymn. Very beautiful sentiment to ask for safety of those who serve in the air.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KfZU0wsNlu8

 

The Last Post - A bugle call that is sounded at the end of daily activities and also at military funerals. A farewell to those who have lost their lives in duty.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I2FKGwZ9oMs

 

 

*Reminder to check the trigger warnings in the notes at the beginning of the chapter before reading! 

 

Story starts below...Enjoy!

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

_“Strong son of man, save those who fly, swift winged across the uncharted sky. Each anxious hour, each lonely flight, serenely challenged day or night. O’er land and ocean safely bear, all those in peril in the air.”_

 

_The words of the priest were met with nothing but silence from the small cluster of dark clad figures ringing the casket, watching as the Union Jack flag that had been draped over the coffin’s surface was removed and meticulously folded. The flag was presented to the grieving family by a duo of men in Naval dress, faces somber and stoic. As tears spilled over cheeks, the now bare casket was lowered slowly into the ground. It was empty, since a body had never been recovered. The final resting place would not be this cold, weathered patch of dirt. The burial was closure for the living, not a way to bring peace to the dead._

 

_The priest bowed his head, hands folded in prayer. “Let his soul rise and keep company eternally with the angels. He no longer needs wings to fly. Amen.”_

 

 _A lone trumpeter began playing_ The Last Post, _accompanied by only the desolate calling of a crow circling the otherwise vacant cemetery. Harry shuddered when the casket finally stopped at the bottom of the shallow grave, landing with a resounding thud as the last notes of the hymn floated on the breeze._

 

_Harry made the sign of the cross over his chest, hand coming to rest over the pendant dangling around his neck. His other arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulders as she sobbed into her hand, clutching the folded flag to her breast. They both startled at the first fire of the rifles, sound ringing out across the sprawling plane of the military cemetery where Harry already knew he would never set foot again. He wouldn’t find his father here. Not in body or spirit._

 

_The rifles continued to fire their salute to another fallen brother as fellow servicemen paid their last respects to Captain Edward Styles, stopping to offer condolences to Harry’s inconsolable mum before saluting the picture that had been placed near the burial site. Harry stood and watched as the line of men slowly dwindled until it was only he and his mother left._

 

_There were no words to comfort her. Especially when Harry knew what he was about to do as soon as he left this cemetery. Instead he simply kissed her forehead and wrapped her in his arms, flag pressed between them._

 

_Something changed then. Harry had relived this moment so many times by now in his memory that he knew it as well as his own heartbeat. But something was different now. When Harry looked up from his mother’s tear-streaked face, his eyes caught a solitary figure standing under a tree on the hill just to the East. The figure was dressed in a Royal Navy uniform, cap shadowing his face. He looked on as Harry squinted to see him better, but a moment later he was gone. Seemingly vanishing into thin air just like the great Captain Styles had done._

 

_Harry looked back down at his mother, but she was gone too, leaving him alone now at the graveside. In her place, Harry found the folded Union Jack flag resting in his hands._

 

_With a sickening weight to his stomach, he turned back to the picture where his father’s visage had been displayed in his military finest. But there were no chocolate curls or green eyes staring back at him from the frame. Instead, there were blonde locks and familiar blue eyes, a happy smile taunting Harry for knowing he’d never see it again in person._

 

Harry awoke with a start, the sound of the rifles still ringing in his ears. He gasped out, chest so tight it hurt to breathe. His eyes frantically swept the room around him until they landed on Niall, laying in the hospital bed. Harry stilled for a moment, not even daring to breathe, as he listened to the steady beep of the monitor telling him that Niall’s heart was still beating...that he was still alive. The rifle salute hadn’t been for him.

 

Just a dream. Just a nightmare.

 

Harry’s chest loosened and he took a deep breath, rubbing at his weary eyes. A quick look at the clock told him that he’d only been asleep for maybe an hour or so. He’d taken the night shift watching over Niall as his family got some rest at the nearby family housing on base. He had spent most of the night sitting in his chair at Niall’s bedside, fighting to keep his eyes open despite his all consuming exhaustion. It was daybreak now, sunlight just beginning to stream through the window, and Harry knew Niall’s family would be back soon. They would try to convince him to rest, but as he’d been doing the past two days, he would decline in favor of staying close to Niall.

 

As predicted, a soft knock sounded on the door to Niall’s room. Harry expected it to be Niall’s family, but instead it was another doctor, dressed in a pristine white coat. Harry didn’t recognize this doctor from the bevy that had been so diligently attending to Niall since they’d arrived at the hospital.

 

“Lt. Styles?” the doctor asked, inclining his head gently.

 

Harry nodded once, standing from his seat to greet the doctor. He was a kind looking man, about Harry’s height with broad shoulders hinting at time spent in the service, but a bit more heavy around the middle after years removed from active duty. His thick hair was dark like coal with a bit of grey at the temples. A pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, but he was looking over them as opposed to through them, giving him the kind of studious look Harry expected a doctor to possess.

 

“Hello. I’m Dr. Waverly. I’m the resident psychiatrist here on base.”

 

Immediately, Harry smoothed his expression to one of passive reserve, knowing that he was already being observed, already being analyzed. “A shrink,” he said, watching the doctor carefully.

 

The doctor offered him a warm smile. “Technically, yes. I guess that would be accurate, Lieutenant.”

 

Harry frowned. He looked over at Niall, then back at the doctor. “Well, I’m not sure why they’ve sent you, to be honest. It’s not like Niall can really sit on a chaise and answer all your deep, penetrating questions about the meaning of life in his current state. I think you may want to hold your assessment until he’s a bit more...coherent.”

 

The doctor turned his attention to Niall, but only briefly. Then those sharp eyes behind the glasses settled on Harry again. “I’m sure I’ll have the pleasure of getting to know Lt. Horan in the near future. But I’m not here to talk with him right now.”

 

Harry straightened his spine, the doctor’s meaning putting him at immediate attention. He should have known this was coming, had been warned it would. He’d been given medical clearance last night from Dr. Huxley, but she told him there would be one final step until he was fully cleared for duty again. Not that he cared. He wasn’t really looking forward to the hearing coming up later today. He’d been informed that he would be escorted to Edinburgh for his hearing at the largest Scottish Naval base. Depending on the outcome, he would either be headed back to the HMS Elizabeth or looking for another career path. Right now, he wasn’t sure which option he would prefer.

 

He figured the first step to figuring that out was getting through the man in front of him.

 

“Should I sit down?” Harry asked, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants to hide their shaking.

 

The doctor lifted one shoulder. “Whatever would make you most comfortable.”

 

Harry chose to pace the room instead, not wanting to sit and have to pretend like he wasn’t about to come out of his skin. He’d never been good at staying still.

 

“I figure I should start by asking if there’s anything you would like to talk about,” Dr. Waverly began, “But I’ve enough experience with your type to know that whatever’s going on in your head right about now is probably locked up tight. Vaults, you boys are. I’m afraid that even after years trying, I still haven’t quite found the combination yet.”

 

Harry blinked at him, face not giving away a thing.

 

“So.” The doctor smoothed a hand over his tie, knot a bit askew. “That being said, maybe it’s best if we just get right down to it.”

 

“Whatever gets this done faster,” Harry obliged.

 

“How are you coping with the accident?” was the first question. No punches held.

 

_Not well._

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Have you been having flashbacks?”

 

_Eject! Eject! Oh God! Harry! Don’t leave me! One survivor, one body. Family only. He’s my brother. You’ve got to be ready...with or without him._

 

“No.”

 

“Have you been having nightmares?”

 

_Does it count if the nightmare doesn’t stop when I open my eyes?_

 

“No.”

 

“Do you believe you are a danger to either yourself or others?”

 

_Probably best not to mention the number of times I’ve wished to be the one in dreamless, unending sleep just to stop feeling the pain._

 

“No.”

 

“Do you feel you are ready to return to active duty?”

 

_I can’t possibly imagine anything I’d be less ready to do._

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then I’m afraid I can’t give you my clearance to reinstate you to full flight status.”

 

Harry’s gaze shot up to look at the doctor with wide-eyed shock.

 

“But...I answered all your questions,” Harry spluttered.

 

The doctor gave him a knowing smile. “Yes. You did, Lieutenant. But I have a feeling not a single answer was quite the truth.”

 

Harry huffed. Damn shrinks. Perceptive bastards, they all were.

 

“Look, Doctor. Flying is what I do. I don’t know how to do anything else. I know I’ve got some...work to do up here,” Harry said, tapping his temple. “But I don’t have the luxury of sitting around and talking about my feelings when there is a squadron back on the HMS Elizabeth that depends on my ability to do my job. It’s not about me. I’m just an instrument. I’m a body to fly a plane. As long as I’m physically able to do that, there’s no excuse to stay grounded. What happened...fuck...it was...it wasn’t something any pilot wants to go through. Let’s leave it at that. But if it were Niall in my shoes right now and me unconscious in this bed, I’d hope that he wouldn’t be afraid to get back to doing what he does best. I’d hope that he’d keep fighting when I wasn’t able to.”

 

The doctor watched him for a long moment, keen eyes seemingly boring into Harry’s soul. Harry wanted to look away, but he forced himself to meet Dr. Waverly’s eyes. They stood across the room from one another with Niall between them, breaths still measured by a machine. Endless seconds passed as the doctor passed his verdict.

 

With a small nod, the doctor looked down at the chart in his hands. He scribbled a few words on the top sheet and then signed his name with a flourish.

 

“Lt. Harry Styles, you are hereby cleared for active duty. This country is lucky to have men like you protecting us from the cover of clouds. But please don’t forget that there’s still good to be done on the ground. Even if - _when_ \- you eventually decide you’ve taken your last flight, what you’ve done up there isn’t going to be what defines you. Flying may be what you do, but it’s not who you are. Take it from someone who decided to keep his feet firmly planted a long time ago. ”

 

“Pilot?” Harry asked, having somehow known he was in the presence of another flyboy even before it was confirmed.

 

“A proud member of the Flaming Aces.” Dr. Waverly said, giving him a salute. “Eight tours. Hung up the wings when it started feeling like the air up there was getting a little too hard to breathe.”

 

Harry couldn’t imagine a life after flying. He couldn’t imagine a job other than the one he currently had. Then again, his father hadn’t had the chance to find one either. Maybe the Styles men weren’t meant for anything else.

 

“Takes your breath away sometimes,” Harry agreed, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. “I guess I’ve always liked that about flying, though.”

 

The doctor shrugged. “Plenty of things to leave you breathless down here too.”

 

Harry’s mind was immediately thrown back to the breathtaking view of sunset on Thurso Bay...to the even more breathtaking view of blue eyes washed out by the flash of a lighthouse.

 

Harry shuddered and closed his eyes, but like staring into the brightest of lights, it didn’t stop the image from being painted against the back of his lids.

 

“You’re going to be alright, Harry. You’ll get through this.”

 

Harry opened his eyes again to the understanding smile of Dr. Waverly. “I know,” Harry whispered.

 

Dr. Waverly chuckled. “You don’t yet. But you will. Godspeed, Lt. Styles.”

 

He left the clipboard with Harry’s completed clearance forms on Niall’s bedside table before nodding once more at Harry and then leaving the room.

 

Harry stared after him for a good long time, standing like a statue at Niall’s side. “I don’t think I’m alright, Niall,” Harry said to no answer. “But I want to be. For you.”

 

He knew it wasn’t real, but in his head he swore he heard a lilting voice in reply.

 

“ _Then get your scrawny arse back in a plane, Bum Bandit._ ”

 

  
  
xxxxx

 

 

The clock in Niall’s room ticked steadily down to the time when Harry was supposed to be collected for his hearing. As every minute passed, Harry felt more and more panicked at the thought of being away from Niall.

 

Six years.

 

He and Niall had been inseparable for six years since that first day of basic training. They had never gone more than a handful of hours without being in one another’s company. And now Harry would be pulled away from him when Niall needed him most, when there was no assurance of the next time they’d be together again... _if_ they’d be together again. The lump just kept growing in Harry’s throat until he could barely breathe around it.

 

At fifteen minutes to 1500, the door to Niall’s room slid open and a fresh faced woman with strawberry blonde curls came striding in, another new face. She was wearing a pair of navy scrubs that only made her blue eyes, fair complexion and fiery hair all the brighter against the dull drab of the ICU room around her.  If Niall was awake, he’d be salivating over her. He was always such a sucker for freckles. It caused the ghost of a smile to tug at the corner of Harry’s lip.

 

 _Twenty quid you can’t get her to talk to you_ , Harry could almost hear himself saying to Niall.

 

Niall would do everything in his power to win that bet.

 

“Hi there,” she said, a warm Scottish lilt coloring her words. It made Harry ache for Niall’s brogue. She smiled, a pair of dimples rivaling Harry’s own popping in her cheeks. “My name’s Fiona. I’m here from physiotherapy.”

 

Harry looked over at Niall, immobile in the bed. Just like psychotherapy, physiotherapy didn’t really seem like something he would be able to participate in at the moment. As if she read Harry’s mind, she winked. “Just here to reposition him and move his extremities a bit. Keep him from developing pressure ulcers and contractures. But don’t you fret, I’ll get him up and going as soon as he decides to join us.”

 

Harry returned her smile as best he could. The thought of Niall talking and walking, let alone awake, seemed like such a far away dream. But the determination on this girl’s face told Harry that if anyone could manage it, she would be the one. He would just have to trust her, because he wouldn’t really be around to see it. Not if things at the hearing today went in his favor.

 

“Good to hear that. M’ names Harry. I’m his...friend.”

 

A softer smile settled on her face. “I heard about you, you know. Dr. Huxley said you nearly took out half the ICU nursing staff trying to get to him when they said you couldn’t see him. Not a lot of people are lucky enough to have _friends_ like that.”

 

Harry shrugged, a hot blush of guilt warming his cheeks at the memory of his outburst a few days ago. “I wouldn’t particularly say Niall’s the lucky one here.”

 

She took a few steps closer to the bed, gazing down at Niall with her lips pursed. “I don’t know about that. He’s here, isn’t he? That’s pretty lucky, if you ask me. Seems to me he’s got plenty of it, and a little luck never hurt anything when it comes to recovery. Although I’m fully expecting him to put in the hard work too.”

 

Harry liked her already. He looked at Niall, then back at the pretty physio, and had to admit that things did always seem to work in Niall’s favor. Just the good old luck o’ the Irish, Harry guessed. Niall always had more than his fair share.

 

“Just a tip, then. He’ll do just about anything to fill his stomach. Offer him something other than hospital food and you’ll have him running marathons by the time he leaves here. You’ll never see someone work as hard as him when food’s at stake.”

 

She giggled, a soft, sparkling sound. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep that in mind. For now, I don’t think I’ll need to withhold food so long as he’s got this,” she said, tapping the feeding tube still keeping Niall from wasting away. “But he’ll be as hungry as a bloody bear when he finally gets it out. That’s when I’ll make my play...when he’s desperate,” she teased.

 

“Good plan,” Harry returned, knowing it would work like a charm.

 

At that, the conversation seemed to be over, and she set to her business again. Harry sat back and watched as she carefully and methodically moved Niall’s limbs, bending them this way and that, stretching his legs. She spent a few minutes fiddling with the braces on Niall’s foot and elbow, then checked him over for pressure sores all while making notes in the chart at the foot of his bed. It was calming, watching her work, gentle hands moving over Niall with practiced ease.

 

A few minutes later, she seemed to be done with her tasks. She sat down on the edge of Niall’s bed, watching him steadily while completely ignoring Harry as if he wasn’t even there. She leaned in a bit closer to Niall. “Now you listen here, Lieutenant. I’ll not be having any trouble from you, alright? So you just focus on opening those eyes and then we’ll get to work. We’re a team now, you and I, so you best start pulling your share.” She patted his arm, and Harry blinked in awe at the way Niall’s monitor started to pick up its pace. “There’s a good lad,” she nodded confidently. “Any time you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.”

 

She turned to Harry then. “The next time you see him, he’s going to be ready for that marathon,” she said with another wink.

 

And Harry believed her. Those massive blue eyes of hers held no doubt.

 

“I’ll hold you to that, Fiona,” Harry said, offering her a nod as she made her way to the door.

 

“Take care of yourself, Harry,” she replied with a wave over her shoulder. “Don’t wanna see you back here unless it’s with a visitor’s pass. And I’ll be seeing _you_ very soon, Lt. Horan,” she added. Niall’s monitor gave another few frantic beats at the sound of her voice.

 

Harry shook his head as she floated out of the room. “Just wait until you see her. You’re already a goner, pal,” he whispered to Niall.

 

Niall didn’t reply, but his monitor did give a couple more sporadic beeps that Harry interpreted as agreement. Harry spent the following silence imagining all the ways Niall would wax poetic about the beautiful lass that had just left his room. It made him feel light for a bit despite the weight of dread that just got heavier as time dwindled down.

 

The clock crept closer to 1500 as Harry sat with Niall, waiting to be collected like a prisoner awaiting his hanging. He cherished the stillness of these moments, knowing they would be last few he’d get with Niall before he was pulled away. He clenched his jaw tight and felt his eyes welling up again. He didn’t know how to do this without Niall at his side. He’d never given much thought to the fact that he might have to someday.

 

Niall always joked about being gutted. He was always gutted over something. Over the ice cream tub being empty, or Derby losing in the finals, or misplacing his lucky socks. But Harry didn’t think Niall truly understood the meaning of that word.

 

Not like Harry did.

 

Harry knew it very keenly now. Gutted. Harry was gutted. He was torn right down the center of his core, shredding his heart right along that jagged fissure. It was a blood let. He was bleeding out, spilling everything from the inside out into an unholy mess of shattered pieces on the floor. To be gutted was to truly have nothing left. Without Niall, there wasn’t anything left worth trying to keep inside anymore.

 

There was no medical procedure any doctor could provide that would suture the hole in his chest. There was nothing to do but find a way to live with a part of himself missing, because that part would be staying here in this hospital bed.

 

When Harry heard the sound of footsteps approaching, he frowned. Reality, it seemed, would not wait.

 

He took a shuddering breath, standing up only to lean over Niall’s bed. Out of the pocket of his crisp Navy uniform, which had been brought to him earlier today in preparation for his hearing, he pulled out a crinkled bill. He pressed it into Niall’s palm, closing his cold, limp fingers around it. “Before I forget. Owe you this, don’t I? You can collect the other ten quid when you’re back in the cockpit with me again,” he said.

 

A sharp knock sounded on the door to Niall’s room and Harry clenched his eyes shut. He pressed his forehead against Niall’s, hating the fact that all he felt against his skin was the scratchy bandage from the head wrap covering his wounds. “You better keep fighting,” he whispered wetly, sniffling at the threat of more tears. “You keep fighting, and I’ll keep fighting, okay? That’s the deal. Don’t you dare give up on me. You fight, Ni. We fight.”

 

It was agonizing, but he pulled himself back, not before pressing a kiss against Niall’s bandaged head. He took a deep breath, expanding his chest fully for the first time in what felt like days. Then he marched to the door without looking behind him. A trio of Navy officers were waiting for him there.

 

“Lt. Styles,” the middle officer said, greeting him with a steely nod and a salute. Harry returned it. “Ready?”

 

_No._

 

“Yes.”

 

Three hours later, Harry stood before a panel of high ranking Navy officials. Experts recounted the accident in so much detached detail that it nearly made him sick. A few other officers had given their witness accounts and opinions on what had happened, throwing out technicalities and logistical data. But they hadn’t been there. They hadn’t been in the cockpit when Georgia Rose spiraled out of control with Harry powerless to stop it. They hadn’t heard the alarm signals blaring or Niall’s panicked voice calling out the rapidly dropping altitude. They hadn’t felt the harsh burn of the wind as his body was violently ejected up into the sky, his beautiful bird left in pieces around him. They had no idea how fucked up Harry’s head was, how unprepared he was to face any kind of future in a plane without his RIO. When it came time for him to give his own statement, formal and full of fraudulent assurance that he was ready to get back to duty, the panel of officials all nodded in agreement.

 

“The committee has come to the decision that the incident on the morning of Monday July 21st was not Lt. Styles’ fault. The F-14 was in an unrecoverable spin induced by the jet wash of another British plane after coming into contact with a hostile bogey of unidentified origin. No pilot would have been able to spare the plane in such a situation, and Lt. Styles made the correct decision to eject and save both himself and his RIO. The incident shall be hereby expunged from Lt. Styles’ record, and he is to be returned to full flight status without any further delay. He is to return to complete his training at Premier Delta aboard the HMS Elizabeth within the hour. Dismissed.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure whether he should thank the panel or plead with them to reverse their decision.

 

From the back of the room, Harry could feel the burn of a pair of eyes against his back. Harry had seen him the moment he walked in the door with Captain Cowell and Commander Corden, but hadn’t been able to quite meet his eyes. Harry knew those blue eyes were on him now, had been for the entirety of the hearing. He could tell that piercing gaze was trying to figure him out, trying to find signs of weakness just as he’d do in a plane. Harry fixed his shoulders and schooled his face to a stoic mask, much like the ones on all the faces of the panel members before him. He saluted the panel and then turned to march down the aisle towards his instructors.

 

Captain Cowell was the first to speak as the room around them started to clear. “I expect that now this is behind you, your training won’t be further interrupted.” His voice was clipped, sharp with expectation.

 

Harry nodded. “I’m ready, Sir.” It didn’t matter that his hands were shaking or that he felt like he was about to lose the meager lunch he’d managed to force down. Harry was a fucking pilot. He belonged in a plane...at least that’s what everyone around him seemed to think. He used to be one of them. “I’m ready to get back to work.”

 

Louis’ eyes narrowed briefly, but he bit his lip instead of commenting.

 

“Good. Your first hop is tomorrow morning at 0700. You’ve got quite a few points to make up,” Captain Cowell said, tone flat and bored. “Let’s go. I can’t spare any more time away from the carrier right now.”

 

Harry followed his instructors down the hall, a few paces behind them, finding himself unable to tear his eyes away from the nape of Louis’ neck now that he didn’t have to worry about getting snared in Louis’ gaze. He knew what that soft patch of skin smelled like, what it tasted like when it was slick with sweat from Harry’s touch. He knew the way Louis sounded when Harry pressed his teeth into that very spot, the way Louis’ entire body would shudder even as he gave Harry shit for leaving marks. It was like a punch to the stomach, the way those memories hit him at such an inappropriate time. He’d just been given a second chance when he knew he didn’t deserve one. Common sense would dictate that it was probably best not to risk it in any way. But those flashes still bled through the cracked walls of his reserve until he had to close his eyes against them.

 

It was over. It had to be. Harry could not destroy anything else in his life right now. So he would hold sacred those few and fleeting moments of happiness with the understanding that there would be no more added to the collection. It would be just another sacrifice that he made for the sake of life in his father’s footsteps...for the sake of this lifelong dream that now seemed much more like a life sentence.

 

It was only when they got back to Commander Corden’s chopper and were headed back to the carrier did he let himself look at Louis again. Of course Louis was already watching him.

 

Even over the roar of the blades above them and the rush of wind outside the cabin, Harry could hear Captain Cowell speak to Louis.

  
“Get him back up there, Tomlinson. Remember what we talked about.”

 

Harry would normally question that, the fierce edge to Captain Cowell’s words, but he found himself too drained to really care. Instead he turned his head toward the window and spotted the HMS Elizabeth coming into view with her surface covered in jets, none of which belonged to Harry now.

 

 _Home again_ , he thought to himself. So why did it feel like the last bloody place in the world that he wanted to be?

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Despite how much had changed in Harry’s life over the course of the past few days, he quickly realized not much had really changed aboard the HMS Elizabeth. The flight deck was still cluttered with people tending to the jets in barely controlled chaos, the pilots still sauntered among them like they owned the world, and the scream of the planes down the Cats still dominated the entire spectacle.

 

Harry felt entirely removed from it all, an outsider where he used to fit so seamlessly.

 

“Sparrow!”

 

Harry turned from where he had been staring at a jet idling on the Cat to see Ginger steadily approaching him, flanked by Liam and Zayn.

 

“Hey, mate. So glad to see you. You’ve no idea,” Ginger said before pulling Harry into a firm hug. “I’m so sorry about what happened. We’ve been getting a few updates here and there about you and Craic from the Commanders, but things have been pretty intense around here, so getting news about what’s happening on the mainland has been kind of difficult.”

 

Harry frowned at that and pulled back from Ginger’s clutching grip. “What do you mean?”

 

Ginger looked to Liam, always the one with the answers.

 

Liam shook his head dismally, heavy brows drawn above his aviators. “Things have really changed, mate. After what happened with that MiG on Monday, it’s been a shit show. They’ve stopped all classes. Instead of two hops a day, we’re going up on five or six, sometimes more. And at all hours too. I feel like my feet have barely touched the flight deck these past few days. Captain Cowell has been cracking down with an iron whip, as have the other instructors. They’ve even extended our time on the carrier too. We were supposed to be heading back to Fort Acaiseid the day after tomorrow, but now we won’t be back there until the end of week six right before graduation. Apparently they want us here instead. But no one is telling us anything.”

 

“Shit,” Harry mumbled.

 

Zayn nodded sadly. “We’re happy you’re back, though. We’ve all been worried.”

 

Harry bit his lip. This was the time when Niall would crack a joke to lighten the mood. Tell them all to calm down and stop being so bloody glum. But he wasn’t here right now, and Harry didn’t know how to pick up that slack.

 

“I’m okay,” he said, fingers absentmindedly rubbing over the edge of his scar. He knew immediately that none of the fellow pilots in front of him believed him, but that none of them would question him either. “And Craic...he’s...he’s hanging in there.”

 

Ginger patted Harry’s arm supportively. “Good to hear that. Really good. I’m gonna have some pretty big shoes to temporarily fill. That much I know.”

 

Harry had been informed in the chopper ride back to carrier that Ginger would be serving as his new RIO for the remainder of his time at 1D since Spider was out. He liked Ginger, there was no question about that, and knew he was a talented RIO, but it wouldn’t be the same. He would honestly rather fly alone now, but that wasn’t an option in an F-14. Harry had to have someone behind him up there.

 

Harry put his hand over Ginger’s where it was still clutching his arm. “We’ll be a fine team, Ging. Full go tomorrow at 0700.”

 

“I’ll be ready,” Ginger told him with a half smile.

 

“Me too,” Harry replied. And he would be. He would _have_ to be.

 

Liam clapped his hands together once, calling the conversation to an end. “We’ve got to be going. Got another hop. But we’ll catch up with you lads later in the Ready Room. Get some rest, because come tomorrow morning, you won’t even know what that word means anymore.”

 

Zayn nodded his agreement, barely hiding his yawn, and then the pair of them were off to their bird waiting in the queue.

 

Harry watched them go with Ginger at his side. “Let’s get you settled in, then,” Ginger said, patting Harry’s back to get him moving.

 

They found their way down to the Ready Room in quiet company, Ginger walking a pace behind Harry like a good RIO where Niall would be shoving Harry out of the way to get to wherever they were going first. When they got there, Ginger hurried off to grab Harry a cup of tea, where Niall would scoff and tell Harry to get off his lazy, entitled pilot arse and get it himself, because, “ _RIOs aren’t bloody servants, ya knob_.” And when they shuffled around greeting the other pilots happy to see Harry’s return, Ginger always waited until Harry acknowledged him to speak, where Niall would always pipe up first and not let Harry get a word in edgewise. Harry didn’t want to compare them, but he couldn’t help noticing all the differences. Harry had only had one RIO his entire career in the Royal Navy. It would just take some getting used to with someone new. Ginger would be fine. But he wasn’t Niall. And until Niall was back, Harry would always feel like something was missing.

 

  
  
xxxxx

 

 

Harry was just coming back from dinner alone in the mess hall when he ran into a familiar face as he passed the Ready Room for the Mighty Wings. Commander Cal Aurand, call sign Shot, was the leader for the HMS Elizabeth’s resident squadron. He’d been one of the pilots called to testify at Harry’s hearing this afternoon, talking about how Harry had followed protocol exactly as expected and had acted bravely and intuitively from what he’d seen when he was called in for back-up. Harry clasped hands with him when Commander Aurand greeted him with a warm smile.

 

“Sparrow. Welcome back aboard. I’m happy the hearing went the right way.”

 

Harry nodded despite his reservations about that matter. “Yes. Thanks for your support.”

 

“No thanks needed. Just calling it like I see it. We pilots look out for one another. You did all the right things, kid. No blame to be placed at your feet.”

 

Harry shrugged. “Still doesn’t make it feel any better, really.” He knew that a veteran like Commander Aurand would understand that. “Still doesn’t make it any easier to lose a RIO.”

 

“No. I daresay it doesn’t,” Commander Aurand told him with a sad shake of his head. “Your RIO was a little shit. But he drummed up more camaraderie aboard this craft than I’ve ever seen in all my years here. I’ve never seen my squadron quite so tight knit, all working toward a common purpose even if it was stirring up mayhem. I suspect it was much the same for you boys too. Being a squadron is a delicate balance and a precious gift. Your RIO understood that. He’s the kind of guy you want in your ranks. He’ll be missed while he’s away. As all good airmen are.”

 

“He will,” Harry said heavily, thinking about the vigil that had been set up in the 1D ready room in Niall’s honor, comprised of whiskey, food and the infamous Playstation, donated from both squadrons aboard the carrier. Harry hadn’t been able to look at the display because the candles lit around the small gathering of items made him think of the ones that had adorned the alter at the church where his father’s funeral service had been held.

 

Commander Aurand watched him for a moment before he finally spoke. “You know...I knew your father.”

 

Harry’s breath caught. He stared at the veteran, doing a quick assessment of his face, trying to pick him out from one of the many pictures he’d seen of his father and his pilot comrades.

 

Commander Aurand continued, “Not well, mind. We never flew together, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out. But in this small world, there are always unexpected ties. Your Dad’s squadron, the Sea Strikers, they were residents of the HMS Lucille when I did my first tour there in the Middle East as a bloody ensign. Can’t say I wasn’t inspired by those men. Fearless, they were. Legends.”

 

Harry nodded, but he couldn’t speak, still too stunned. It always surprised him when someone said they knew his father, even though he should really start to expect it by now. His family name was one of the better known in the Royal Navy.

 

“Such a shame about his passing,” Commander Aurand offered respectfully. “Too many good pilots lost, and we never hear how it happens. An entire career. An entire life. Stamped classified and shoved into the deepest, darkest depths of the archives. Too many heroes never get their recognition. Your Dad? I’ll bet he went out like a hero. I expect nothing less of you...although I do hope your story ends a bit differently than your Dad’s. I hope you get to see your son fly someday. I know your Dad would have really liked that chance.”

 

“I would have liked that too,” Harry barely managed to say.

 

“We all would have liked to see him take over at Premier Delta. Last I heard about him, that’s what everyone was talking about before he passed. He would have been a great head of the program, and that’s speaking from an alumni here. Instead, we’ve got the current _regime_.” The way he said it with such distaste made Harry frown with confusion.

 

Commander Aurand sneered. “Cowell shouldn’t have left you all defenseless up there. He knew what was going on. He should have armed you boys. You’re bloody pilots. You know how to handle a yoke and pull a trigger. You don’t need some self important flight school to question your judgement. We could really use you up there with all that’s been going on. He’s trying to make up for it now by sending you boys up with us to do patrols, learn from active pilots, but that’s what he should have done from the start instead of all the fucking training hops against second rate talent.”

 

So that explained the surprising new policy at Premier Delta, Harry figured. He wondered if that order had been instated by Captain Cowell or someone higher up the Naval food chain.

 

“Cowell isn’t all he’s cracked up to be,” Commander Aurand went on. “His ways are antiquated. They could use some fresh blood in that program of yours. We’ve all been saying that for a long time. We hoped that bringing Tomlinson in would help. Massive respect to him. He’s lethal up there, unlike the rest of your instructors. Best young pilot I’ve ever seen. You’re lucky to be learning from him. He’s another one of those that’s got a lot of accolades, none of which can be spoken of in company without clearance. I’ll bet he’s got stories, even as young as he is. You didn’t hear it here, but there’s definitely some tension between him and Cowell. Rumor has it that Cowell didn’t want him on staff. But it seems that for as much power as Cowell likes to think he has, he’s not the only one with a hand in how things are being run at 1D.”

 

Commander Aurand was pulled from his conversation with Harry by shouts coming from his Ready Room. A flurry of feet approached the door as a few members of the Mighty Wings barrelled through already in their flight gear.

 

“Bogeys spotted to the North. Go time, Shot,” one of the pilots said hurriedly to Commander Aurand.

 

Commander Aurand turned briefly to Harry and shook his head. “Welcome to what it’s been like around here the past few days. We’ll talk later. Take care, Sparrow. We’re gonna need you on top form.”

 

Harry watched the pilots rush towards the elevators taking them up to the flight deck before heading back to his own Ready Room. When he got there, it was all but empty, his own squadron likely being called away on similar orders to that of the Mighty Wings.

 

He felt useless, but there wasn’t much he could do until tomorrow morning, so he set to getting that rest everyone was telling him he should take advantage of. Unfortunately one look at the small pod that he’d once stayed in made it pretty clear that even that would be a challenge despite his exhaustion. Harry couldn’t bear to stay in the racks, couldn’t face Niall’s still messy bunk above his own. He went to the only other place where he might find a bit of solace.

 

The hangar bay was surprisingly quiet when Harry got there, most of the action occurring above deck. Harry wove his way through the sparse collection of planes not up on the flight deck until he found the space where Georgia Rose had rested. He knew it would be empty, but it was better than the claustrophobic confines of the racks. He found a corner near her former haven and slid himself down the wall. Only then did he close his eyes and allow himself to fall into a fitful sleep, of course haunted by dreams of a free fall...this time with no chute to stop his impact.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

The next morning, Harry was startled awake by the sound of loud voices and groaning steel. He blinked his eyes open to find a shiny new F-14 in Georgia Rose’s place. No scars. No stories. Just metal and wings and a tank of explosive gas.

 

Just another thing Harry would have to acclimate to in this strange new existence.

 

He shifted against the stiffness in his back as he slowly came around to what was going on in front of him. He frowned watching them paint his name and call sign on the side of the new jet, where it didn’t belong. In fact, he had half a mind to scratch it right off the minute they were done etching it there. Even more out of place was Ginger’s name behind his own, another reminder of who would be sharing that cockpit with him...or rather, who wouldn’t be.

 

“Hey,” Ginger said, as if summoned by Harry’s thoughts of him like some kind of superhuman RIO magic. Harry hadn’t realized he’d been standing off to the side watching the safe delivery of their new plane as any good RIO would be prone to do. Ginger’s eyes tracked the movements of the service staff that were going about getting the jet ready for its first flight.

 

“Hi,” Harry grumbled, voice still thick with sleep. A glance at his watch told him it was almost 0600. Well past time to start getting ready.

 

“Have you thought of a name yet?” Ginger asked, turning away from his observance of the jet to face Harry. He didn’t comment on Harry’s appearance, probably akin to the walking dead, or the fact that it was obvious he’d slept in the hangar last night.

 

Harry looked at the jet, but didn’t feel any kind of connection. When he’d first met Georgia Rose, he knew instantly what to call her as if she’d bloody introduced herself to him with a curtsey and a smile. There was nothing this time. Just cold, lifeless metal.

 

“It’s a plane, Ging. Just a plane.”

 

Ginger nodded quickly, fidgeting with his hands. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘course. Sorry.”

 

Harry sighed, tugging at the messy strands of his hair. He didn’t want to put Ginger on edge. He needed him to be steady, because Harry wasn’t sure what his own reaction would be getting back in the cockpit again. “No need to apologize. What’s our schedule for the day?” he asked, hoping that at least Ginger would be better about managing that than Niall ever had been.

 

Ginger instantly perked up, happy to be of use to his new pilot. “Ready room at 0630 for prep. Hop at 0700. We’ve got four scheduled today. 1100, 1400 and 1600. Meetings in the war room in between for debriefings. But things are subject to change based on latest intel. We have to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

 

“Got it,” Harry said tiredly, already wishing he’d gotten more sleep. Already he wanted this day to be over.

 

“You sure you’re…” Ginger trailed off, knowing better than to finish.

 

Harry didn’t answer either. He just stood up, twisting a bit to crack his aching back, and walked away from the jet without another glance at it.

 

Ginger stood back, not quite sure what to do until Harry called over his shoulder, “You coming? Sounds like we’ve got a busy day. Let’s get the early jump on it.”

 

Ginger didn’t leave his side after that.

 

At 0700 Harry sat in the cockpit of the new jet with nothing but the runway in front of him as he idled in wait. He looked down at the altitude meter, zeroed out at the moment, above which was clipped a picture of he and Niall at graduation from basic training all those years ago. He hadn’t put it there. It had been Niall’s, pinned to the wall of his rack next to the mess hall schedule. Ginger had probably thought it would help. Harry was pretty sure it wouldn’t, because every time he so much as glanced at it, his stomach seized up in painful knots.

 

Ginger called out information to Harry, but he couldn’t make himself listen because he didn’t recognize the voice. His hands felt clumsy on the yoke, too stiff and not worn in yet by hours in his hold. The hum of the fresh engine was too quiet, not anything like Georgia Rose’s gruff roar. There was also the cold, new reality of the missiles strapped to the gut of the jet, live ones with real firepower connected to the trigger under Harry’s thumb. There were so many things different that Harry barely even recognized this experience any more. But most of all, Harry himself was different. He wasn’t the same pilot he’d been just a week ago. He could only pray that this version would be capable of doing what the other had been able to do so effortlessly.

 

“All clear, Sparrow,” came the signal from the Air Boss in the tower. Harry tightened his gloved hand on the throttle, pushing it forward to gain tension.

 

“Sparrow’s a go,” he called back, hoping that was the truth.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

The rest of the weekend and the beginning of week six passed by in a blur, Harry barely even acknowledging anything around him, barely engaging at all. He was practically a zombie, removed from everything and functioning solely on autopilot for basic functions.

 

Wake. Eat. Piss. Fly. Sleep. Repeat.

 

It took everything in him to manage just that. The buzzing high he used to feel with his hand on the yoke and his fingers gripping the throttle was gone. He couldn’t even bring himself to care as his name slipped from the top spot on the 1D point board and tumbled down the ranks. None of that mattered. Harry just flew. And when it came time to pull the trigger, Harry found himself too weary to go through with it.

 

“Just getting used to new controls,” he’d explained after every mission where he’d yet again accumulated no points. It was a bullshit excuse if there ever was one considering the cockpits of F-14s were identical, the one he flew now the same as the one he’d lost. Except it didn’t feel that way to Harry. It felt like learning to fly all over again. And the instructors, for their part, just kept sending him up, forcing him to work his way through his own shit. Harry didn’t think he was doing a particularly good job of it.

 

Late Wednesday afternoon, after yet another spectacularly fucked hop, Ginger paced anxiously behind Harry as they made their way from the flight deck to the war room for another miserable debriefing.

 

“Hey,” Ginger finally said, quickening his stride to match Harry’s. “Hey, Sparrow. What happened up there?”

 

Harry didn’t answer. He didn’t have an answer. He just wanted to get the necessary tasks of the day over with so that he go back to sleep and shut out the world. Or at least try to sleep. It wasn’t easy to get any decent rest on the cold, metal floor of the hangar bay where he’d permanently taken to spending his nights. The unrelenting nightmares didn’t help either.

 

“Come on, Sparrow. Talk to me,” Ginger spoke again. His tone aimed for understanding but missed by a mile. Ginger had been patient with him the past two days, but Harry could tell that patience was wearing thin. It was his job as a RIO to question his pilot, and Harry knew it went against that nature to handle Harry with kid gloves like he’d been doing. “We lost another one. We could have had that one too. We had the shot. He was wide open, defenseless and -”

 

One moment Harry was stalking across the flight deck, and the next he had a fist full of Ginger’s flight suit, lifting him right up off the ground.

 

“My finger is the one on the goddamn trigger. I’m the one with that burden. So when I’ve got a shot, I’ll bloody well take it. Until then, back the fuck off and let me do my job,” Harry growled, barely recognizing his own voice. A stunned silent Ginger dropped to his feet the second Harry let go of him. His wide eyes searched Harry’s face, trying to figure him out, trying to figure out how to help him. But there was nothing to be done. Harry was beyond salvage, flying with broken wings, and poor Ginger was strapped along for the ride.

 

Harry stepped back from him, equally shocked at this own unforgivable outburst. He didn’t apologize, couldn’t, just turned and marched off, hoping that maybe Ginger would make the right choice and abandon him. He’d jumped from a bad situation with Spider to an even worse one with Harry. He didn’t deserve this. Harry hoped he found a pilot who treated him with the respect he deserved as a top class RIO. Harry would probably be better off on his own. If he went rogue, he couldn’t hurt anyone else. Besides himself.

 

_Rogue._

 

With the sudden lack of classes, Harry hadn’t seen Louis since his return to the carrier. He’d heard his voice over the chatter on the radio, sharp and focused, so unlike the playful banter on hops. But that was Rogue, really, not Louis. That was the steely professional with the war stories and battle scars. That wasn’t the person Harry wanted, nor the person he needed. The problem was that Harry didn’t know how to get that person back after he’d done everything he could to push him away. It was probably just another situation better left without Harry’s fumbling attempts at repair. It was better left in the past as he’d decided at the hospital.

 

But then why did Harry’s heart stutter every time he got that neck prickling feeling that he was being watched? And when he searched for the gaze that always seemed to be locked on his six, why was he always disappointed when he couldn’t find those sky blue eyes staring back at him?

 

Harry was getting that feeling again now as he cleared the flight deck and trudged down the hallway to the war room. He didn’t turn around until he heard his name called out.

 

“Sparrow,” Commander Corden said from behind him. Harry shut his eyes for a moment before slowly turning in his direction. And there beside Commander Corden was Louis, still sweaty in his flight gear, eyes watching Harry as he’d known they would be.

 

“Commanders,” Harry mumbled, dropping his eyes to stop the ache in his chest at being so close to Louis again.

 

Commander Corden was the one to reach out and pat Harry’s shoulder while Louis stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “That was a rough one, eh? Don’t worry. You’ll do better next time,” he said as he looked down at his watch. “Which will be in just under an hour. Quick turn around. You’ve been assigned to surveillance at the front line of the strike group. Short mission considering we’re expecting a storm coming in tonight and we’re leaving to head back to shore early tomorrow. You’ll be in before nightfall. Alert your RIO and be ready for briefing at 1730.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, not knowing how he could possibly handle another flight with how dead tired he already was. Unfortunately there was no option to sit this one out. It was probably going to be one of his last flights here at Premier Delta since graduation was the day after tomorrow. “Who will be leading the mission? Who should I report to?”

 

Commander Corden looked at Louis. “Rogue’s in charge up there this time. He’s your man.”

 

 _He’s not anymore_ , Harry almost said before he bit down on his tongue, tasting blood. _He’s never been,_ Harry corrected himself.

 

Harry saluted Louis, looking right through him. Louis frowned, jaw muscles strained from clenching his teeth.

 

“If that’s all...” Harry started, waiting to be dismissed.

 

Commander Corden nodded, but Louis held his hand up to stop Harry where he was already backing away.

 

“Lieutenant. I need a sparrow up there with me this evening. Not a pigeon. Understood?”

 

Harry knew it was meant to be encouragement, that it was meant to make him smile at the memory of lighter moments. But it made him panic instead. The birds inked on his chest were a mockery just like his name on that damned jet still cooling its metal on the flight deck. The Styles family left a legacy of fearless flyers...and then there was Harry.

 

Harry took a shaky breath and stepped away from his Commanders, mind swimming in an ugly mix of guilt and shame. Louis’ eyes widened at the unintended response and his hand automatically reached out for Harry, but Harry was already gone.

 

He rounded the corner at nearly a jog and slammed right into Zayn, who was fresh off his own hop with Liam. One they’d no doubt won. Zayn’s warm eyes softened when he saw Harry’s state.

 

“Hey, mate. Steady. In a hurry?” Zayn asked in that soothing voice of his, righting Harry with sure hands.

 

Harry scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to wipe away the cold sweat. “Yeah,” he stuttered. “Another flight soon. Just found out from Commander Corden. You know how it’s been.”

 

Zayn nodded, reaching up to scratch at the grizzle on his own jaw, a testament to how busy he’d been without time for a proper shave. “Surveillance with Rogue?” he asked.

 

“You as well?”

 

“Just got the orders too. I’m off to find my pilot.”

 

“Yeah. I’m looking for Ginger,” Harry told him, although he couldn’t say that’s where he’d been heading when he fled from Louis just moments ago.

 

Zayn looked uncomfortable. “About that. How are things going with him? As your RIO and all?”

 

Harry shrugged. Another wave of guilt crashed over him when he thought of his parting words to Ginger. “It’s...it’s...”

 

Zayn smiled sadly, “Yeah. I get it.”

 

Zayn reached out and tugged at the fabric of Harry’s shoulder over his squadron patch, smoothing it out. “You know...being a RIO is probably the worst job in the entire world.”

 

Harry frowned, that being the last thing he’d expect from Zayn, of all people. Zayn was the perfect RIO, both in skill and temperament. He was also arse over teakettle in love with his pilot, so why would he hate a job that let him spend every waking moment - and most sleeping ones too, for that matter - with Liam?

 

Zayn chuckled at Harry’s dumbfounded expression. “Typical pilot reaction,” Zayn teased. “But let me give you a little glimpse of what life is like as a RIO. It’s an existence always coming in second. You’ve got no control, no authority. You’re basically no better than human cargo while your pilot show boats and gets to be the hero. You sit there behind your bloody radar screens calling out things they don’t even hear most of the time in the heat of the battle. And if you get it wrong...you’re always the one to blame. It’s putting your life in someone else’s hands when their hands are on the trigger to weapons of mass destruction. It’s absolutely mental, when you think about it.”

 

“So why do you do it?” Harry asked.

 

Zayn smiled. “Because probably the only person besides a RIO who understands their worth is their pilot. Every pilot knows they couldn’t do what they do without us, even though we tend to get overlooked by everyone else. For us, it’s not about the glory and medals of honor, our names in the record books. It’s about the person we choose to trust with our lives understanding how special that trust is.”

 

“You sacrifice so much for us,” Harry said, immediately met with Zayn’s furrowed brows.

 

“It’s not a sacrifice, Harry. Flying with a pilot like you. Niall was never afraid to get in a plane with you. Because he trusted you. Because he knew you cared about protecting more than just your own skin. You would give everything for him, wouldn’t you?”

 

Harry nodded without a moment of hesitation.

 

“Then how could you think he wouldn’t do the same for you?”

 

Harry bit down on his lip to stop it from trembling.  “He shouldn’t have to,” Harry was barely able to say.

 

“But that’s not your choice, is it? It’s his. Us RIOs always have a choice even though we don’t make the tough calls like you pilots have to do sometimes. Niall _chose_ to fly with you. He _chose_ to trust you. And coming from a fellow RIO, I don’t think he would regret that choice. Even now.”

 

Harry didn’t know what to do. His hands were trembling, but the rest of his body was frozen, stiff and tense as his mind processed Zayn’s words. Zayn, the consummate RIO, knew just what to do with a locked up pilot. He pulled Harry into a tight hug, so similar to what Niall would have done.

 

“Giving Ginger a chance doesn’t mean you’re letting Niall go,” Zayn whispered against Harry’s hair as he held him steady. “You need someone with you up there, Harry. There are a lot of hands reaching out to help you. You just have to accept them.”

 

A throat cleared a few steps away, causing Harry to pull back from Zayn. Standing there with matching confused expressions were Liam and Ginger.

 

“Trying to steal my pilot now, Pak-Man?” Ginger joked, giving them an tentative smile. It was clear he still wasn’t sure where he stood with Harry, and for that Harry felt even more guilt.

 

Zayn winked at Ginger. “Nah. Got one already. I already made my choice.” Zayn looked at Harry with a raised brow before turning to smile at Liam. Liam’s fond smile in return, so rarely seen under all that rigid military training, burned brightly for a beautiful moment. It made Harry ache with envy. Zayn stepped away from Harry to stand at Liam’s side.

 

“This one’s all yours,” Zayn said to Ginger, nodding his head at Harry. “See you lads up there. We’ll be on your wing.”

 

Liam and Zayn left, walking down the hall with their hands brushing every other step. Harry watched them go with Ginger shuffling his feet next to him.

 

“Ging,” Harry said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

 

Ginger was already shaking his head before Harry even finished his apology. “No, you don’t have to - ”

 

“Yes I do,” Harry cut him off emphatically, squeezing down on Ginger’s arm. “You’re my RIO now, whether you chose to be or not. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not grateful to have you at my six. I promise I’m...trying.”

 

“I know you are. I’m here for ya, Harry. And not just as your RIO, I hope you know. We’re gonna be fine. _You’re_ gonna be fine.”

 

And he was. Debriefing was fine. Take off was fine. The mission at the front line was even fine. He was fine all the way up until the darkness set in around them and the storm started to roll in. Then Harry was trapped in a real life version of one of his nightmares. And he was very much not fine at all.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Night landings were shit. Louis had touched down in the cover of night countless times in his career as a pilot, but that didn’t stop his pulse from racing just that little bit faster every time he looked out his windscreen and was met with nothing but the blackness of the sky and sea, merged into one endless vacuum. There wasn’t a Navy pilot in the entirety of the service who didn’t hate night landings for that very reason.

 

Louis let out the breath he had been holding when Diana’s tail hook caught a wire as he set her down on the carrier, a little less gracefully than he would normally manage in the daylight. But he was alive and his bird was in one piece. That was all that mattered when landing under these conditions. An elevated blood pressure and a pound lost in sweat were welcome sacrifices.

 

The surveillance mission watching the strike group hadn’t turned up anything interesting. It had been quiet in the air and at sea while the 1D squadron flew alongside the Mighty Wings to keep eyes on the Royal Navy’s fleet. The radars hadn’t turned up a single bogey, and the mission was called when the storm started to creep in over the evening horizon, big black clouds dropping down torrential rain with lightening flashing every few seconds. Thankfully their squadrons made it back to the carrier well before the storm overtook them.

 

Louis climbed down from his A-4 the second the windscreen was pulled back. He let the frenzied crew start the process of getting Diana back down to the hangar bay so that she wouldn’t have to brave the elements once the storm really hit. While they tended to her, Louis - as the squadron leader - made his way across the flight deck to check in with the Air Boss to be sure his team had all safely returned. The wind whipped the misty rain across the flight deck, tousling his hair and making his trek a bit slower for having to occasionally steady himself on a nearby plane or piece of equipment.

 

When he finally got to the command tower, he found that the deck crew weren’t the only ones who seemed to be on edge.

 

“Gentleman,” he said, marching up to the Air Boss, who was standing with Captain Cowell, Corden and Winston. They were talking to the squadron leader of the Mighty Wings and one of the chief LSOs. All eyes turned to him, etched with the same look of worry.

 

“Are all teams accounted for?” Louis asked, because that could be the only reason for such grave looks on his comrades’ faces. He hadn’t heard anything of concern over the radio, then again, he’d been focused on the task of landing his plane in zero visibility so he hadn’t really been paying attention to the usual chatter while making his approach.

 

No one spoke for a moment, and Louis did a quick survey of the men that he could see around the deck.

 

The Air Boss started speaking, “All teams accounted for...except…”

 

“Where’s Sparrow?” Louis asked abruptly, instantly knowing who was missing. He was the first one Louis looked for, and not seeing either him or his new F-14 amidst the steadily increasing rain sent Louis’ heart racing even faster than it had been landing his plane just moments ago.

 

It was Chevron who stepped forward then, looking hesitant as he gave Louis answers. He looked up at the dark sky with equally dark eyes. “Sir. He’s..um…he’s still up there. I tried to get him down, but my fuel was too low and I was ordered in immediately because of the storm. His fuel levels can’t be much better than ours. I thought he was on my six, but then there was no one landing after me. Based on what we heard over the radio...he’s…he’s not doing well. ”

 

Louis nodded once and instantly took off toward his plane again without a word to the group around him. Winston caught up to him quickly, grabbing hold of the back of Louis’ flight suit.

 

“Where are you going, Tomlinson?” Winston barked.

 

Louis ignored him, yanking free and continuing across the deck. A gust of wind knocked him against a jet, but as soon as his footing was right again, he was right back on his path.

 

“You don’t have clearance for this. What makes you think you’ve got the authority?” Winston snapped at him. Louis wheeled around so quickly Winston lost his stride trying to avoid colliding with him. Louis took that opportunity to slam the taller Winston up against the nearest jet, his forearm pinned across Winston’s chest. Winston just smirked. “What are you going to do? Hit me? Hit one of your superiors? Let’s see where that gets you with the Captain. You’re already on _such_ good terms with him.”

 

“Fuck off,” Louis snarled in his face. “Don’t think I don’t know your game plan, trying to run me out by whispering in the Captain’s ear. We both know the only reason you got your position here is because of all the arse you kissed to make up for your barely passable flying. That hardly makes you my _superior,_ despite that title you cling to so dearly. I’ll gladly take my self respect over some meaningless prefix in front of my name, especially if it puts me on the same level as someone like you. I don’t take my orders from you, and I never will. Now stand down, or I’ll lay you out instead. Superior or not.”

 

“Go ahead. But you can kiss that Commander status goodbye if you do. All that hard work. All that struggle after what happened in the Persian Gulf. All the years trying to prove yourself since. Wasted. And for what? For _him_? For someone who’s going to walk out of your life in a week’s time and never look back? Eventually the nasty little secret you’ve been guarding isn’t going to be classified anymore. You can’t change what’s written in the archives. You can’t rewrite your past, Tomlinson.”

 

A sudden chill worked it’s way down Louis’ spine, as if the frigid rain now pounding down on the flight deck had worked its way under his suit, under his skin, into his very bones. Memories he was usually so good at keeping locked down flooded his mind. A night just like this. The darkness. The wind. The rain. Except it had been him needing the save back then.

 

“The past doesn’t have to keep repeating itself. At least I can change that,” Louis said, voice determined.

 

“That’s quite enough,” Captain Cowell commanded sternly as he approached them. “What’s going on here?”

 

Louis continued to glare at Winston, pushing his forearm harder against his collarbones.

 

“I asked you a question, Tomlinson,” Captain Cowell called over the sound of the wind. “As your Captain, I expect an answer.”

 

“I’m going up to get him,” Louis said simply without turning his head, voice leaving no room for question. “I’m going to bring Sparrow down.”

 

Captain Cowell snorted out an undignified laugh at such a preposterous statement. “Your arse is staying right here on this deck. That’s an order. This storm is too dangerous to be pulling some kind of vigilante rescue mission just because you’ve developed a soft spot for - ”

 

Louis cut him off mid sentence, unwilling to hear the rest of what he knew Captain Cowell was going to say. He needed to be up in the air. He needed to get to Harry. Nothing was going to stop that. Everything depended on it.

 

Breaking hundreds of protocols and risking insubordination, he turned his back on his superiors and headed for his plane. He was already climbing up the ladder with his helmet on before Captain Cowell caught him again. This time the tug on his suit was hard enough to bring him back down a few rungs on the ladder. Louis clenched his jaw and gripped the bars of the ladder to keep himself in check.

 

“How dare you dismiss your Captain. Stand down.”

 

Louis turned around, growing more frantic for every second spent on the ground. “Do you want him back down here of his own volition or are you just waiting for the storm to throw him down into the fucking ocean so you can fish him out of the wreckage again? Because I can tell you right now, he’s not coming down on his own. Not with what’s going on in his head. Trust me, I know what it’s like. I’m not going to sit by and let you destroy his future as a pilot. Because if he wrecks again after what just happened last week, he’s never going to get in a goddamned plane again. Now I’m going up to get him. You have two options, Captain. You can either let me go without protest, or you can order me not to go - which you know I’ll ignore - and then you can strip my bloody wings when I get back. But you aren’t going to ground me. You can’t. I’m the best you have and you need me training your men. You need me to fix what you fucked up. I’m not the only one here who’s future is at risk.”

 

“Watch your tone with me, Commander,” Captain Cowell hissed. “You’re risking a lot more than a 30 million euro plane here.” The only thing that mattered to Louis was that it wasn’t an order to remain grounded. But it was time wasted, and Louis had very little of it to spare. A crack of lightning flared across the sky, illuminating Captain Cowell’s vicious scowl and Louis’ equally savage glare.

 

“You’d rather risk the life of a pilot like Styles?” Louis countered. “How will that look for the program? Losing a recruit. Losing _this_ recruit.”

 

Captain Cowell pursed his lips for a moment before finally making his decision. “Go. Bring him down. But we’ll need to have a long discussion about your future with this program after that.”

 

Louis didn’t really care at the moment if he had any kind of future as a 1D instructor. Harry’s immediate reality was of much more concern to him.

 

Not even a minute later, Louis was screaming down the runway up into the pitch black night.

 

With his hands steady on his controls, Louis talked into his mask. “Coordinates on Lt. Styles?”

 

The voice of the Air Boss, wary and tense, replied with Harry’s location.

 

“Rogue is supersonic. Fifteen seconds out.” The sound of Diana breaking the sound barrier could barely be heard over the raging storm.

 

“Do we need to put up the crash barricade?” the Air Boss asked.

 

Louis gritted his teeth, praying there wouldn’t be a need, but knowing it was quite possible. “Let me assess the situation first.”

 

Louis watched his instrumentation carefully as he approached Harry’s location. At first it looked like there was nothing there. Then a bolt of lightning split across the sky and he saw the stalled F-14 hovering in front of him. When things went back to darkness, all that was left of the scene was the faint glow from the cockpit lighting system spilling out across the wings of the jet with an eerie red glow. Louis let out a rushed breath, relieved that he’d found Harry, that he was still airborne.

 

Louis pulled up to his wing, edging as close as he dared in this wind.

 

“Sparrow? Hey, Sparrow!”

 

Nothing.

 

“ _Sparrow_ !” Louis yelled desperately, watching the deadly still pilot in the barely visible plane at his side. “ _Harry_!”

 

That got something, a small turn of his head.

 

Louis was quick to take advantage of the attention. “Listen to me, alright? Just focus on my voice,” he tried to remain as calm as possible as he talked to Harry so as not to spook him.

 

Harry’s RIO, Ginger, quickly interjected. “Rogue? Oh thank God. Our fuel…” he began in a panic.

 

“Silence, Ginger. I know. Harry?”

 

A shaky breath was all Louis got in response.

 

The voice of the Air Boss crackled through the radio, startling Louis. “Status report. Have you made contact?”

 

Louis cursed as the breathing on Harry’s end got more strained and erratic.

 

“I’ve got him in my sights. We’re coming in. Just...turn the bloody radio off for a bit, yeah? I need to talk to him.”

 

“What?” the Air Boss asked in disbelief. Flying without communications was as good as a death sentence, but Louis needed to talk to Harry. Just Harry. It was the only way he could think to handle this.

 

“Just turn it off!” Louis snapped. “Fuck procedure! I need to get through to him!”

 

“Fine, fine. You’ve got your privacy. Just signal in when you want comm back up,” the Air Boss replied mercifully. “But if we don’t hear from you in two minutes, we’re overriding.” Then the radio went silent.

 

“Harry,” Louis started again, voice softer now that the ears of the Royal Navy weren’t listening in. “It’s just us now. We’re going back to the carrier. You and me. Easy as that. Just stay on my wing, okay? That’s all you have to do. Just stay with me,” Louis coaxed.

 

Louis waited tensely for what felt like an eternity, and then as if by some miracle, Harry’s plane started to move forward. “Good, that’s it, Harry. Just like that,” Louis sighed.

 

Louis pointed his nose in the direction of the carrier and cruised next to Harry as they descended through the rain towards their invisible target. The problem was that Harry was descending too fast, dropping closer and closer to the water with each second. At this rate, he was going to slam right into the back of the carrier trying to land. His wings were wobbling wildly, a clear indication of how shaky his hand must be on the yoke. And he just kept bloody dropping like a rock out of the sky.

 

“Harry! Pull up!” Louis shouted. He could hear Ginger voicing the same thing. “Pull up! Pull up! You’ve got to pull up!” Louis kept repeating.

 

Finally, _finally,_ the nose of Harry’s plane started to rise and his wings leveled. Louis sucked in a breath and blinked his eyes to clear the sweat that had dripped down his forehead and was threatening to cloud his vision. He needed to be able to see his instruments too. Harry wasn’t the only one who was going to have difficulty landing in these conditions. This was dangerous. This was _deadly_.

 

“Good,” Louis stated as Harry pulled forward of him. “Good. Steady on. That’s it. Almost home. You’re going to go in first, okay?”

 

The wings of Harry’s plane faltered again and Louis barked out Harry’s name.

 

“Look out your window,” Louis tried as a last ditch effort to calm Harry. “See me?” He couldn’t be sure through the rain, but he thought he could see Harry’s head turn in his direction. He gave Harry a little wave. “I’m right here, love. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you.”

 

“He did,” Harry murmured, voice devastated and shaky like a child’s. It tore Louis’ heart wide open. “They all do.”

 

“Well, I can’t have _you_ leaving _me,_ so you need to land your plane, okay? Can you do that for me?” Louis pleaded.

 

Louis held his breath until Harry finally whispered, “Okay, Lou.”

 

Louis instantly hit the button on his panel for communications to be restored. “We’re making our approach. Sparrow’s first. No crash net. He’ll be fine. He can do this.” Louis hoped the confidence in his voice was enough to bleed into Harry.

 

Harry’s breathing wavered a bit, but Ginger’s voice spotting the OLS overtook it. Ginger spoke to the LSO while Louis watched as the lights from the carrier started to flicker below them. Louis hovered in place as Harry started to drop for his landing. Louis lost sight of him in the rain when he got closer to the carrier, so he just listened to the sound of Harry’s breathing as Ginger talked them in.

 

Long seconds passed, and then…

 

“We’ve got hook!” Ginger cried and Louis closed his eyes in thankful prayer.

 

“Good lad,” Louis whispered on a sigh. “Knew you could.”

 

“Cat 3’s clear, Rogue. You’re up,” the LSO instructed.

 

“Okay. See you soon, Sparrow,” Louis said over the radio, not even sure Harry was still listening. He turned his focus on his own plane as he made his descent.

 

Once Louis was back on the deck with Diana still steaming behind him, he pushed through the crowd of bodies until he found Harry’s F-14 on the other Cat. A flurry of people were around it - around him - but Louis elbowed his way between them until he set eyes on Harry.

 

He was leaning against his plane in the pouring rain, helmet tossed carelessly to the ground and soaked curls matted down to his face. His palms and forehead were pressed flat to the metal and his entire body was shaking so badly Louis could see it six feet away.

 

Louis stepped up to him, resting a hand on his back. “Harry?” he whispered.

 

Harry sparked to life at the sound of Louis’ voice like he’d been shocked by a defibrillator, shoving away from the plane and away from Louis. He stumbled through the idling crew members and disappeared below deck a moment later.

 

Louis stood in the rain and watched him go, wishing - not for the first time - that his past could have just stayed lost at sea like his future.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Harry stood in the locker room in front of the mirror, sounds of the raging storm outside muted in the stuffy bowels of the carrier. His eyes were fixed on the still raised scar slicing his brow, just millimeters shy of his eye. It was gruesome. Just as monstrous as it had been when they removed the steri-strips before he left the hospital last week. But given time, it would heal. It would fade, replaced by new skin, until it was just a faint, silvery score. Something you would have to squint to see. Just a memory - a story Harry no longer had to remember every time he caught sight of his own reflection.

 

The damage to his flesh was no match for the deeper devastation. That wreckage wasn’t tangible. And it would take more than just the turning of the clock to heal...if it ever did.

 

He was shaking from more than just the frigid, rain-drenched fabric of his flight suit when he closed his eyes to the haunted face in front of him.

 

With an almost calm clarity, Harry came to a single realization.

  
_It’s over._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this! I'm sending you all virtual hugs! I've been so blown away by all your kind words of support for this story. As always, come vent to me in the comments or on Tumblr (RealityBetterThanFiction)! I love nothing more than talking about how wonderful Niall is and how horrible I am for making him suffer. 
> 
>  
> 
> Cheers!


	10. Premier Delta (RNAS Fort Acaiseid) - Week Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graduation for the Premier Delta recruit class...at least for most of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was an absolute beast to write, which is why it took forever. I hope this makes up for it. Massive thanks to my pair of RIOs, cuethetommo and bubblymar, for getting me through this with my sanity intact.
> 
> Without further delay, the last week at Premier Delta.
> 
>  
> 
> xxxxx
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy and thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music (there are a lot this chapter):
> 
> Fix You - Coldplay
> 
> Letters from the Sky - Civil Twilight
> 
> If I Could Fly - One Direction
> 
> Talk Me Down - Troye Sivan
> 
> Everything - Lifehouse
> 
> All That I'm Asking For - Lifehouse
> 
> Heart Shaped Wreckage - Katherine McPhee and Jeremy Jordan
> 
> Two - Ryan Adams
> 
> Please Be Naked - The 1975
> 
> Scars - Tove Lo
> 
> Flight - Lifehouse
> 
> Falling Slowly - Elenowen
> 
> Eye of the Storm - X Ambassadors
> 
> Pair of Wings - Justin Timberlake
> 
> Look After You - The Fray
> 
> Flying for the First Time - Elenowen
> 
> Lionhearts - Demi Lovato

**RealityBetterThanFiction’s Crash-Course to Aviation:**

 

 

 

Decorations - The colorful pins on the breast pocket of officers in the forces, awards and honors for service. The more you have, the more important you are.  

 

Wings - An aviation insignia that all pilots wear pinned above their decorations and ribbons. 

 

*Reminder to check the trigger warnings in the notes at the beginning of the chapter before reading! 

 

Story starts below...Enjoy!

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Harry sat in an uncomfortable metal chair in the hall outside Captain Cowell’s office back on base. After so long spent on the carrier, growing used to the steady sway of the sea, having his feet on solid ground again felt disorienting. They left the carrier this morning just after the sun rose and the pilots had all woken. Harry hadn’t needed to set an alarm to avoid missing their call time. He’d been up already, because he hadn’t gone to sleep. He hadn’t been able to manage after having packed up both his own and Niall’s lockers last night. It had been another long night sat in the hangar bay staring sightlessly at his unfamiliar plane.

 

As he waited, his fingers played with the object in his hands, his pilot wings, pressing down on the pin until he felt sharp pain at the prick. When he looked down, a little dot of blood started to ooze from the puncture on his pointer finger. It was a small wound. Healing as quickly as it was inflicted. But the sight of it made Harry think of the unstoppable stream that had gushed from Niall’s head when he’d held him in the water.

 

Blood. So much blood. Harry would never be able to forget how red it looked against pale skin and fair hair.

 

It was what he’d been thinking about last night, eyes glued on the picture of them below his altitude gauge, bathed in the red glow of the low fuel lights. In the middle of the storm, he had needed Niall’s calm voice keeping him steady, telling him which way was up. He’d become so attuned to Niall’s lilt, measuring his whole life by the words of his RIO. But last night, he hadn’t been able to hear it. He hadn’t been able to make sense of Ed’s voice trying to fill the hole. It had just sounded like white noise, a part of the storm around him, rendering him deaf. It hadn’t been the storm or the darkness that had sent Harry into a panic. It had been the feeling of being truly alone for the first time.

 

_It’s over._

 

Harry still felt those words as surely as he had after the hop last night, the culmination of the tailspin he’d been trying to right ever since the crash. He’d looked at himself in the mirror and realized that there was no way to do that aside from another ejection.

 

Harry startled when he heard the sound of the door to his right open and close. He looked up at the soft pad of footsteps coming closer.

 

“Harry,” Liam said. He stood awkwardly in front of Harry for a minute before he decided to join him, taking the rigid chair to his side. “He’s meeting with you next?”

 

Harry shook himself to clear his thoughts and nodded. All the pilots were required to meet with the Captain today for a final review of their performance throughout the program. Then they would clear out their lodgings in preparation for graduation tomorrow. This was the end of the line at Premier Delta. This was the moment they’d all been waiting for, thinking about with giddy hope as they laid their heads down on their pillows each night in exhaustion after another day of spending themselves dry up in the sky. But Harry felt nothing. Because while this was the end of the line for him, it was in a very different sense than it would be for all his fellow recruits.

 

“Congratulations, by the way. On winning the Pilot’s Trophy,” Harry told him honestly. Final numbers had come in last night. The tally had been no surprise. Harry didn’t have it in him to feel bitter, because he didn’t have it in him to feel _anything_. He figured it would be best to say it now, because he might not have the chance to do it when it mattered. “That’s something to be proud of. Good for you.”

 

Liam frowned, not the look Harry expected from the pilot who had just secured himself the highest accolade in Naval aviation and top choice of duties after graduation for his accomplishments.

 

“I don’t know how I feel about winning something I’m not sure I’ve earned,” Liam said instead of a simple thanks.

 

Harry shook his head. “You’ve earned it, Liam. You’re a better pilot than I am. You’ve proven that time and again. You deserve the honor. They don’t give awards out to pilots who - ” _destroy their planes and put their RIOs into comas._

 

Liam’s eyes snapped to Harry as his words hung dead in the air. The next were spoken like they’d been building for a long time, stuttering a bit in his haste to get them out. “I wouldn’t have been able to do what you did, Harry. I wouldn’t have been able to get back in a plane. Everyone’s always teased me about being made of stone. Cold and uncaring. All through basic training, my flight class would call me Iceman instead of my real call sign as a joke. They said that like the movie namesake, my flying might be flawless, I could ice anyone out, but that it wasn’t human to live with a heart that was covered in frost. No one understood me. No one but Zayn. He had known who I was all along.”

 

Harry knew this story. He’d heard it from Zayn so long ago, sitting in a cramped and stuffy infirmary on this very base. But he hadn’t heard it from this perspective. He doubted that many had.

 

Liam’s voice didn’t even sound like his own when he continued. “I never wanted him to be my RIO. I wanted him to come with me when we ran away from our pasts. But the pressure of making that choice for us, deciding something for not just myself but someone else? I didn’t want to put his life at risk that way. I didn’t want that kind of responsibility. Zayn gave it to me anyway. He asked me where I wanted to go and said that wherever that was, he’d be there too. Because he wanted me. No one had ever wanted me like that before. Not enough to give me that kind of trust. I’ve been doing everything in my power to earn it ever since. The thought of anything happening to him when he’s in the plane behind me, it’s...unbearable. Because I’m the one who put him there. I made that choice for us...for him. If something ever happens to him, I don’t think anyone would accuse me of being frigid after what would follow. Cold hearts don’t bleed. But mine would shatter.”

 

The emotion in Liam’s eyes had Harry feeling like he was seeing someone new, meeting them for the first time. He knew Chevron, the steely pilot he’d been battling against the past few weeks. He even knew Liam, the trusty yet somewhat removed friend he’d come to enjoy as a pub mate. But he didn’t know this version in front of him, this love sick boy who had fallen for his best friend. The boy so plagued with guilt that he would cease to function if something happened to that best friend.

 

“He had a choice, Liam. Zayn chose you.”

 

“He did,” Liam confirmed. “Why, I’ll never know. But I know I’ll always be thankful. I also know that I wouldn’t be able to do this without him. I’m not strong enough. Not like you.”

 

Harry clenched his fist around the wings in his hand. He could still feel the dull throb in his fingertip from where his skin had been pierced. He focused on that feeling to avoid the other ones that were threatening to surface.

 

What Harry was about to do wasn’t born of strength.

 

Harry opened his palm and looked down at the wings, where they’d left an imprint on his skin.

 

“Why do you have your wings?” Liam asked warily, also looking down at the silver pin that had been, until this morning, fixed to the collar of Harry’s uniform.

 

“I’m not going to need them anymore. You only need wings if you’re going to fly.”

 

Liam’s eyes widened, dark with disbelief.

 

“Lieutenant Styles?” Captain Cowell stood in the doorway of his office, arms crossed over his chest with his own wings pinned above his many military decorations. “I’m ready for you.”

 

Harry stood, hiding the protest of his aching back. He nodded once to Liam, still sitting stunned in his seat, and then saluted Captain Cowell.

 

“Yes, sir. I’m ready too.”

 

He entered the office with his wings still in hand, but he wouldn’t be leaving that way.

 

  
  
xxxxx

 

 

The pub was just as Harry remembered it. It felt like forever ago that he’d last crossed this threshold, broken up by days of both soaring highs and heart-wrenching lows. Harry walked through the pub, nearly empty in the late afternoon lull, and took a seat at the bar. He’d sat in this seat before too, but the company had been a lot better then. Now it was just the lone barkeep, the same one as that first night.

 

“What can I get you?” the gruff barkeep asked, not recognizing Harry out of his Navy uniform. He was dressed in civilian clothes. His new uniform of sorts. Aside from his flight jacket, which he still hadn’t quite given up yet.

 

“Guinness please,” Harry answered, voice cracking at the end. It hadn’t been working right since he stumbled out of Captain Cowell’s office, body shaky and mind hazy. He’d been looking for the antidote and his search had led him here. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go. Not anymore.

 

_“Premier Delta, baby! Here we come!” Niall hollered over his first of many pints of Guinness. Harry smiled at Niall and clinked his own against Niall’s overflowing glass, sloshing sticky amber drink all over the table at the pub where he and the rest of the class were celebrating their release into the world of naval aviation._

 

_“Here’s to the fucking dream, Craic. We’re going to rule the clouds. And we’re going to own the wind.”_

 

_“Legend!”_

 

Harry’s chest constricted suddenly, pain searing through his center. His breathing started to lose its rhythm, and he had to latch his hands down onto the edge of the bar to keep himself upright.

 

_“You’ll still have family there cheering for you, my brother. And you’ll always have me. Now keep that recently overused pecker of yours up. We’ve got a lot to be happy about right now. Life is good. Really damn good. Let’s enjoy it, shall we? Because you never know when your luck will change. Even us Irish have our limit.”_

 

Harry clenched his eyes shut, head pounding as hard as his heart. He couldn’t make it stop. He couldn’t fucking breathe.

 

_“No! Don’t you dare leave me! Don’t you dare leave me blind. I need you, Niall. You’re the only family I have. You’re my brother. Don’t leave me. I need you. Don’t leave me.”_

 

The barkeep set the glass down in front of Harry, causing him to jolt so hard he nearly took out the fresh pint. His breathing was still coming out in erratic wheezes when the barkeep surveyed him carefully, and then told him, “It’s on the house.”

 

Harry barely managed to murmur a thanks before the barkeep took one more cautious look at him and then left him with his drink. Harry reached up to his face and found his brow as sweaty as the outside of the pint glass. He wiped the perspiration away, trying to ignore how shaky his hands were, and set to finish the beer. The sooner this one was drained, the sooner he could order another. And then another after that.

 

He was halfway through his third pint when the door to the pub opened up, creaking horribly against the quiet background music. Harry didn’t look up. He just kept his focus on his drink.

 

“Didn’t think this would be the place I’d find you. Usually when people skip town, they do it pretty fast. That’s the coward’s way, isn’t it? Not even a goodbye.”

 

The voice caused Harry to freeze, pint glass halfway lifted.

 

The stool next to him was pulled out and Louis slid into place, another distant memory of better times. But this time his eyes weren’t shining with mutual banter. This time they were cold and unreadable. It took every bit of Harry’s resilience not to wither under that hard gaze. With great effort, he finished lifting the glass and took a drink.

 

The barkeep looked between them and then turned to take cover in the kitchen, already knowing this wasn’t going to end well.

 

“I got an interesting call this afternoon from a concerned recruit in the class. Said they thought Lt. Styles might pull a runner, blow off the graduation ceremony. Imagine my surprise. Because the Styles men I know don't give up when shit goes sideways. They don't take themselves out of a fight. And they don't abandon their men.”

 

_“Your surname won't win you points here any longer, Styles."_

 

_“You’re not the one who lost him. You’re not the one everyone compares to him. You’re not the one who always falls short. You don’t get to fucking talk to me about my father when you never knew him!”_

 

It had only taken a few carefully chosen sentences to have Harry seeing red. His grip tightened around the glass in his hand, threatening to shatter it. He and Louis had been down this road before, but this time Harry felt the rage building faster and more furious, making him dizzy with it. He knew better, but he took the bait anyway. “Don't you dare fucking use that against me again. You don't know shit about my family,” Harry seethed.

 

“I thought I knew _you_.”

 

Harry smacked the glass down on the bar top. “Because I let you suck my dick? Trust me, you were just convenient,” Harry snapped.

 

Louis laughed at the blatant lie. That only incited Harry further.

 

“You know what you don't know?” Harry pressed on, voice deep and raw. “What it’s like to lose everyone around you. To lose the people you love one by one until you’re alone. You have no right to tell me how to cope with that when you have no idea how much it fucking hurts.”

 

“That’s not true,” Louis said simply.

 

“What do you want? Do you want me to thank you for coming to my rescue last night? Do you want me to thank you for mortifying me in front of the entire 1D staff and a good majority of the HMS Elizabeth’s crew? I could have handled it. I would have been fine.”

 

“I know you would have been fine. But did you ever stop to think that maybe you're not the only one with emotional range? That maybe I panicked when I heard it was _you_ up there?”

 

“So the infamous Rogue has feelings. Didn’t think you deigned to have them like the rest of us. Thought you survived solely on the flesh of the pilots you eviscerate. You really are a piece of work. You know, I had you pegged wrong. I thought you were a vulture. But you’re really just a common gull. Full of nothing but shit.”

 

Louis clenched his jaw. “Lash out at me all you want. If it helps, tear me apart. I can take it. But if you really think you’re the only one who has suffered losses, you’re the one who doesn't know _me_.”

 

“I don't want to know you,” Harry told him evenly.

 

“I always figured you’d make that decision,” Louis said, and Harry was as surprised by the sudden sadness coloring his words as he was confused by its meaning. Louis’ elbows rested on the bar, and his head bowed down. For a moment it took the wind out of the sails of Harry’s rage. “But before you do, I think you deserve to know who you’re walking away from.”

 

Harry's heart pounded in his chest at the serious tone in Louis’ voice.

 

“I don't want to know,” Harry tried again, less sure. “I don't want this anymore.”

 

Louis looked up at him, and for a moment Harry was terrified that Louis could see the truth plain in his eyes.

 

_I don't want this because it's just something else I’ll lose._

 

“I’m not going anywhere, Harry,” Louis said softly. And Harry was right back to rage.

 

_“I’m right here, love. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you.”_

 

_“He did. They all do.”_

 

Harry’s heart started to pound again, flooded with memories of those exact words said to him, countless times. He’d believed it then. He’d believed it every time. He knew better than to do the same now.

 

_“Promise?”_

 

_“Always.”_

 

The only always was that every promise was a lie.

 

“He said that same thing, you know,” Harry finally managed, “Before he left. Then the suits came to the door and put the flag in my Mum’s hands, and there’s been a hole in my family ever since. I’ve never known. He was just gone. Classified. And it’s _never_ stopped hurting. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You don’t know what it does to the people you let down.”

 

Louis’ lips parted as if to speak, but Harry stopped him. He was panting, voice broken and entire body shaking.

 

“ _Remember, son,_ _falling in love with the sky is foolish. You fall in love with what keeps you here. On the ground. You take care of this for me, that way you’ll always have a little bit of sky with you, and I’ll always have a little bit of solid ground to keep me coming home_.”

 

_Except he hadn’t._

 

_“Let his soul rise and keep company eternally with the angels. He no longer needs wings to fly. Amen.”_

 

“My Dad is dead.”

 

_“I won’t watch you throw away your life like he did! I won’t watch you abandon your family for the sake of some misguided allegiance to your country above all else! If you do this, if you walk out that door, you’re as good as gone. Just like he is.”_

 

“I might as well be as far as my Mum is concerned.”

 

_“He was my RIO…my friend…my…my family . It was my job to keep him safe. My responsibility. Down here and up there. And I failed. I fucking failed ! Now look at him. Look!”_

 

_My fault. My fault. My fault._

 

_“You’ve got to be ready...with or without him.”_

 

“I lost my RIO, the closest thing I had to family.”

 

_“Hello, my darling. Happy to see you here, aren’t I?” he murmured. He removed his flight glove, ignoring the early morning chill in the air, and stroked the side of her belly with his naked palm. “You and I, we’re going to look after one another up there, yeah? Just like always.”_

 

_From this view, he could see the entirety of the wreck, could see the shambles of all his hopes and dreams torn apart and strewn like puzzle pieces that could never be put back together again no matter how hard Harry tried, no matter how desperately he wanted them to fit._

_Georgia Rose was dead. She might not be the only casualty._

 

“My plane is at the bottom of the fucking ocean. I’m at the bottom of the class here, dead last.”

 

Harry didn’t realize he was shouting. He didn’t realize his face was streaming with tears. He didn’t realize that he had a hold of Louis’ flight jacket, clenched in one hand so tightly that his knuckles were blanched. The other was wrapped around his dog tags - around his father’s pendant - yanking the chain so that it cut into the back of his neck, threatening to snap. All he could see were the faces of his ghosts. So many ghosts. All because he couldn’t keep his feet on the fucking ground.

 

_What goes up must come down._

 

Now he would never leave the ground again.

 

“And I never had you.”

 

Louis watched him, eyes wide. He didn’t remove Harry’s hand from its grip on him. He just stared at him, looking as though he were truly seeing Harry now, seeing all his demons, all his mistakes. Maybe now he would finally leave and save them both the inevitable pain. Harry didn’t think he could survive any more.

 

“So what do I have left that's worth anything?” Harry pleaded. The question wasn’t for Louis.

 

“You have yourself, Harry,” Louis insisted, answering anyway. “The rankings mean fuck all in the real world. You’re the best young pilot I’ve ever seen. You have so much promise. Anyone in the Navy with half a fucking brain can see that. What’s happened at this school isn't going to change your future as a pilot. It’s not going to change _you_.”

 

Harry shook his head. He let out a bitter laugh, finally letting Louis go. He couldn't do the same for his past. The imprint of the pendant was still unmistakable on his skin.

 

Harry turned away from Louis and reached for what was left of his beer.

 

“It already has.”

 

“What do you mean?” Louis asked.

 

“I quit.”

 

“You _what_?” The words were spoken quietly.

 

Harry turned back to Louis, looking him squarely in the eyes. “This afternoon. I turned in my wings. I’m not just missing graduation. I’m done. It’s done, Louis. I’m not going to lose what little I have left in the name of pride. You might not be going anywhere. But I am. Don’t try to save me this time. You can’t. Because you can’t rewrite the past. You can’t rewrite it any more than you can resurrect my ghosts.”

 

Harry felt the pause stretch endlessly between them. To fill it, he lifted his glass to take another drink, but it never made it to his lips. It was knocked away with a quick swipe of Louis’ hand. It shattered as it hit the ground, spilling the remains of Harry’s warm beer. There was no one in the bar to stop and stare, but Harry still felt immobilized by the weight of eyes on him. Probably because the unrestrained emotion in Louis’ was enough to crush him with only a single pair.

 

Before Harry could raise his voice at Louis’ rude behavior, Louis had him by the scruff of the collar and was yanking him out of his seat. Harry stumbled while Louis dragged him toward the door. He was too stunned for his feet to protest until they got outside into the fading afternoon light.

 

Harry dug his heels in the pavement, but Louis was relentless. He tightened his grip on Harry’s jacket and tugged him forward until they were standing in front of Louis’ car.

 

“Get in,” Louis demanded, voice flat.

 

“What gives you the right to - ”

 

“Get in the _fucking_ car, Harry.”

 

“Why?” Harry fired back.

 

Louis started at him, eyes piercing Harry just as sharply as his pin had this morning.

 

“Because you’re not the only one with ghosts. You’ve shown me yours. It’s far past time I show you mine.”

 

  
  
xxxxx

 

 

Harry knew this road. He remembered its winding path from when he’d traveled it weeks ago in this same car, with the same company. The radio wasn’t on this time - no nostalgic classics to break up the silence - but Harry still felt a certain sense of deja vu about it all. The only difference was the harsh contrast of his own mood. The last time, it had been giddy anticipation. This time, weathered resolve.

 

He knew where this road led. Not just geographically.

 

When the lighthouse came into view, framed by ominous dark clouds on the horizon, Harry had finally accepted what was about to come. It had all started here. It might as well end here too.

 

Louis parked the car on a well turned patch of gravel, tires crunching the stone in a way that made Harry cringe. When he cut the ignition, Harry could hear the sounds of the violent waves crashing against the cliff on which the lighthouse sat. The looming storm roused the sea, making passage dangerous, even with the aide of the lighthouse. No ships would brave these waters today. No breathtaking sunset would be enjoyed here.

 

Thunder rumbled distantly when Louis finally got out of the car, door slamming behind him. Harry was slow to follow, trailing after Louis as he made determined strides to the green door where he had once told Harry about the storied past of this place. There would be more history lessons today, but not ones about the creation of the lighthouse.

 

Louis pushed through the door, holding it steady against the wind so that Harry could follow him through. The lighthouse keeper was nowhere to be found once inside, the door to his residence shut tight. Louis didn’t even give it a passing glance before making his way towards the stairs. He didn’t look back at Harry either, just kept his ashen cheeks and locked jaw facing forward and up as he took the steps one by one.

 

When they got to the peak, Harry had to hold the door frame for a moment to avoid being blown over by the sheer force of the wind. Louis was already out on the small deck, gripping tightly to the railing. His hair was blowing around in a mess, nearly as wild as the look in his eyes when he finally did turn his head to gaze back at Harry.

 

Harry took careful steps forward, Louis tracking his progress, until he was also stationed at the railing, holding on like Louis was.

 

Louis’ voice was quiet, but it could still be heard over the sound of the sea around them. “I’ve seen that before.”

 

Harry was about to ask what he meant, but Louis’ eyes answered the question, dropping down to Harry’s chest...to the dog tags still around his neck...to his paper plane pendant.

 

“It just wasn’t around your neck the last time I did.”

 

It wasn’t the answer to one question. It was the answer to every question. Now Harry understood. He understood every guarded touch and troubled look. Every moment of hesitance. Every vague half truth. It had been the past coming between them. Harry’s past. Louis’ past. The same past. The same person.

 

Harry didn’t need to know any more, but Louis was going to give it to him anyway. Maybe because it wasn’t Harry who needed to hear the truth this time. It was Louis who needed to tell it.

 

“What I’m about to tell you is top level classified information,” he started, looking out at the sea as he slipped back into his own memories. “It was six months after I’d finished my training at 1D while I was assigned to the HMS Marie - a cold, shitty day in November drifting in the Arabian Sea. It was one of those days where every sea faring lad knows to stay out of Mother Nature’s way. The sea spilled cold waves up the side of the carrier, spraying frigid mist over the planes. The wind was unrelenting, making it damn near impossible to spend any time on the deck without risk of being thrown overboard. Everything should have been shut down. Everything _was_ shut down…until we got a message from Culdrose. They said the Iranians were moving ships off the coast of Pakistan, staying real quiet about it without any reason. We wanted to know what the hell they were up to. We were the closest in the region, so they sent us in. Small squadron, orders were just to take a look and bring back some high-res images. Us dogfighters were only supposed to be there for support. Just protocol. Because of the weather, there were only three planes viable for action to cover the Lockheed surveillance plane. Me and my RIO, Stag. Two of our fellow 1D graduates, Gunner and Axel. And one of our Captains.”

 

Thunder rumbled in the distance, sounding so much louder since Harry’s heart stuttered to a stop. Without it beating, the blood drained from his face leaving him as white as the crests of the waves below them.

 

Louis looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. “Needless to say, the Iranians weren’t too happy about us snooping around. Foreign relations were already tense, and we weren’t making them any better by sticking our noses in. We saw the Iranian ships, and the next thing I knew planes were on us, like fucking flies just…everywhere. We had no chance. They shot down the Lockheed and took out Gunner’s plane all in less than a minute of combat. I was taking heavy fire, trying to protect my wings. Just trying to get the fuck out of there.”

 

Louis paused, trying to summon the strength to continue. When he did, his voice was different than Harry had ever heard it. Shaky and distant, younger. Much like the version of himself that had suffered the horrors he was recollecting now. He wasn’t here in this moment. He was in another, re-living it again, the same crush of emotions brought back to the surface simply by its retelling.

 

“I screamed at my RIO to report back to the carrier, tell them we needed support, but he wasn’t responding. I looked back and he was just slumped over in his seat, blood bubbling under his mask and down the front of his suit. I was...I was blind…flying without my eyes, without half my brain…Stan, my best mate since childhood...my brother in all ways but blood...strapped lifeless like cargo behind me because I couldn’t do my fucking job and keep us safe. And I was fucking terrified because there was no way I was making it out alive.

 

“My fuel tanks were shot to shit, bleeding me dry like a sieve. And I was in deep, way off course somewhere over the Persian Gulf, across enemy borders, no idea where I was or where I was going. That’s when it finally happened. A fighter peeled off from the pack and came after me, tailing me like a fucking predator as I steered in circles, completely out of control. He got missile lock on me and there went my left wing. It was all I could do to eject before his second missile took out the rest of my plane, Stan with it.”

 

Louis closed his eyes and brought a hand up to rub at his right deltoid, where he bore the memory of who he had lost that day. Harry’d had his hands on that patch of skin so many times, traced his fingers over the outline of the broken heart framed by antlers. He hadn’t known he was prodding at something so painful. Then again, wasn’t his very presence doing the same?

 

With great effort, Louis forced himself to continue. “I hit the water hard, parachute nearly drowning me, with flaming hunks of metal from my plane raining down around me. Because that was all that was left. There wouldn’t be anything left of Stan to salvage no matter how long I searched the wreckage. Nothing left to bring home. Nothing left to bury. And I know…I know…that people don’t survive situations like that. Dark, fucking ruthless waters. Rain pouring down. Waves that could swallow a ship whole. A rabid dog fight still going on above me. It was over. And the horrible thing was that part of me was content in that moment. Part of me was pleased it was all going to end. I was happy that Stan and I would go together, and I wouldn’t have to live with knowing that he was gone because of me.”

 

Louis shivered then, not just from the wind currently blowing in from the sea.

 

“It was so cold, that’s what I remember the most,” Louis told him, as if Harry hadn’t also known that phantom chill. “Not the wave after wave that sent me tumbling arse over tit. It was the cold. So bitter and numbing I thought I’d never feel anything again. It was going to take me. I was going to let it take me. But that’s when I saw it. Another plane heading my direction. And when the pilot saw me amidst the debris, he started doing barrel rolls as if to tell me that he knew I was there…knew I was alive. Then I saw the bandits, screaming in from the north headed right for him. They saw me too, of course, even in shit visibility you couldn’t have missed me given the fucking fluorescent green rescue dye like a giant target. They sent a spray of bullets over the water. I have no idea how a single one didn’t hit me, but there I was, just watching as the great Captain Styles single handedly took on a squadron of enemy fighters in the most intense dog fight you could imagine. He got six, but then one got him, and soon enough, he was in the water like me.

 

“I thought he was gone. I hadn’t seen a chute eject, so I figured that he was gone and that I really was alone. But then I heard shouting, someone calling my name, and a few minutes later, there he was swimming up to me. I knew he was injured - badly. He had a pretty awful wound on his forehead and one of his arms wasn’t really doing much to help him stay afloat, but he grabbed me anyway, dragged me to a floating piece of my plane and hid us beneath it, with me leaning back against his chest as we floated there together.

 

“We spent four hours in the freezing water and pouring rain until the Angel finally got to us. He kept telling me to keep talking. To tell him about my family, my friends, my life. Keep me awake. Conscious. So I just went on and on, teeth chattering as I told him everything I could think of, stories I’d never told anyone. Hours worth of spilling my soul. My dreams. My fears. I kept talking, and I never thought to ask him to do the same.”

 

With a shuddering sigh, Louis came back from the past, as if suddenly remembering he had an audience. He turned to Harry, eyes wet and imploring.

 

“I swear to you, Harry,” he whispered. “I tried to get the diver to hook him first, get him out first given how badly he was hurt, barely hanging on. But he wouldn’t let them. Insisted they take me, and they weren’t going to heed a lowly Lieutenant’s orders over a Captain’s. By the time the diver got back down to the water, he was gone. Just slipped away. He hung on until they got me, and then he let go. They never found him.”

 

Harry knew that part. He knew his father’s real burial had been at sea. But now he knew that the waves hadn’t been the only witness. The distant memory came back to him, a moment he hadn’t been certain was real. Another memorial. Louis had been witness for that one too.

 

“You were there,” Harry said, breaking the silence. “My father’s funeral.”

 

Louis nodded, eyes closing. “I couldn’t bear to face his family, knowing I was the one who survived. That my life had been spared over his. But I wanted to pay my respects. Say goodbye. He deserved that. He deserved so much more than that.”

 

“I would have liked to meet you then. It might have helped,” Harry told him, thinking of the lone Navy figure that had stood on the hill and watched from a distance.

 

Louis shook his head, “You wouldn’t have wanted to meet me then. I was hardly honoring his memory. I couldn’t fly after it happened. Couldn’t get back up there and engage. I was in worse shape than you after your wreck. Much worse. I knew the risks that come along with what we do, we all know them. We know that losing people is an unfortunate certainty of our job. But I still let the fear consume me. I nearly threw it all away because I wasn’t strong enough to do what I had pledged when I enlisted. It took months and months of therapy to just be near a plane again without a full on panic attack. But then every time I thought about quitting, turning in my wings, I heard your Dad’s voice. It was one of the last things he said to me before the Angel came. One of the only things he said while I was selfishly pattering on about myself. He told me, ‘ _Think of the people on the ground. The ones you protect when you’re up in the sky. You’ve got to get back to them. You’ve got to keep fighting for them._ ’ So I did. I kept pushing myself. For them. For him. And eventually I learned to cope. But I still think about it. Every single day. I still think of the sacrifice he made to save my life. What he gave up.” Louis looked at him, “I didn’t know then just how much it was. Now I do.”

 

“So I was amends. Training me. Is that why you’ve been so hard on me? Is that why you’re here?” Harry asked.

 

Louis brushed a hand over his wind-blown fringe, a flash of distant lightning illuminating his features. “Maybe. At first. When I heard rumors from Sophia that Captain Styles’ son was going to be part of the recruit class, I think I figured that it was time I face my past. Pay back a debt. I thought it would be hard. That looking at you would be like looking at him. A constant reminder. I figured that would be my penance. But then…”

 

“Then?”

 

“Then you came along and you were just… _you_. I didn’t think you’d be so different. I never thought it would be so easy to forget…who you are.”

 

“That first night. At the bar. You recognized me. You knew who I was then. From the beginning you’ve known,” Harry said, a bit accusingly.

 

“Not at first. I didn’t even put together the call sign because I was getting too much of a laugh out of the fact that one of my future students was trying to chat me up. Then I saw the necklace. I remember him always wearing it. And I remember wondering where it had gone on that last mission when it was no longer hanging with his tags. He told me it was in safe keeping when I asked.”

 

_Maybe part of him knew that he’d never be coming back for it_ , Harry wanted to say.

 

“About a week after it happened, the morning of his funeral, I got this. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed it. But it’s for him. It’s for your Dad.”

 

Louis rolled up his sleeve and brushed a hand over the small dark lines needled into his forearm. And there it was. So small. For the countless hours Harry had spent with his eyes and hands all over Louis, he’d never noticed this tribute hidden amidst the rest of his ink. Harry reached out a finger and traced the paper airplane tattoo, the other hand coming up to touch the three dimensional version hanging from his chain.

 

“He always talked about you. Always told me how much he loved you. I think he took me under his wing because I was young like you - because I reminded him of you.”

 

“He was keeping you safe,” Harry said.

 

_For me._

 

“I owe him everything and not a day goes by where I’m not grateful. I fly for a lot of people, Harry. There are a lot of names on my plane. I told you that. My Mum, my sisters, Stan…but there’s only one person who’s the _reason_ I’m still flying…still _alive_ to fly.”

 

“Training me won’t bring him back,” Harry said.

 

Louis nodded sadly. “I know. I know that now. But it might prevent you from ending up like him. I don't think I could stand that. I don't think I could fight my way back again if I were to lose you too.”

 

“You won't now.”

 

Louis’ eyes were sharp, determined. “Don’t make my mistakes, Harry. Don’t take yourself out. Yes, I’ve gotten back up there and yes, I’ve been a part of a lot of important missions since, but part of me is always scared. I’m always afraid when I fly now. That’s another reason why I came back to 1D to be an instructor. I couldn’t take it anymore. I wasn’t strong enough to keep pushing it up there. But you? God, you’re too good for that. You’re too much like your dad to let this take you down. I can't stand the thought of losing you, but the thought of you losing yourself is even worse.”

 

The tears tracked down Louis’ face when he said, “Fight for yourself, Harry. Your dad never let his brothers down. Every man mattered to him and he was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for each and every one of them…ended up doing just that. Your old man, he did it right. You will too. Don’t you dare stay on the ground, Harry. You fly like a hawk. You fly like your father.”

 

“I’m not him. I can’t be him,” Harry told him desperately.

 

Louis shook his head. “That’s not what I’m saying. You’re flying against a ghost up there, but you’re never going to beat it if you keep flying in it’s shadow. This? Right here? This says Sparrow,” Louis said, pointing to where the name was stitched into his jacket. “You are _not_ your father. Stop trying to _be_ him. Stop trying to walk in his footsteps. Take the best of him and then make it more. Because this is better - _you_ are better. I don’t care what other people see when they look at you. I knew you both, but I don’t see him when I look at you. When I look at you, I see Harry. I just see _you_. The man I’ve fallen for.”

 

Behind them, the light flickered on, casting its beam out into the twilight sky. It cut through the clouds, through the mist of rain that was just beginning to fall, reaching out to anyone finding themselves wayward on the sea. For the first time, Harry felt like he might not be among those lost souls anymore. He might not be safely back to home port yet, but he could see the light in the distance.

 

_“You’re my home, Harry. But it’s okay if someday, when you grow up, I’m not yours. You’ll find your own home. And that’s the most precious thing in the whole world. Even more precious than flying with the sparrowhawks. Okay?”_

 

_Harry nodded, trusting that Dad always knew what he was talking about. Dad was never wrong. Still… “What if I can’t find it, though? What if I can’t find my home?”_

 

_“You will, Harry.”_

 

_“And if I need help?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes._

 

_“I’ll always be around to help steer you in the right direction if you need it. I'll always shed a little light along your path if you get lost.”_

 

_“Promise?” Harry asked, holding out a pinky._

 

_“Always,” Dad said, curling his own around Harry’s._

 

Harry reached his hand out, resting it on top of Louis’ on the railing and said, “He kept his promise after all.”

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

They raced the rain back to base, returning to Louis’ cottage just as it began to steadily fall. Unable to dodge the pelting droplets any longer, they hurried to the door to make their escape. Louis didn’t waste a moment unlocking the door, pulling Harry through to save them from being soaked. His efforts were in vain, as Harry could already feel his shirt stuck to his skin and his hair flattened to his face.

 

Once inside with the door firmly closed behind them, the sounds of the rainstorm faded to a dull hum, replaced by the silence of Louis’ private space.

 

Harry took a minute to look around as Louis went off to find them some towels and a clean change of clothes. His eyes grazed over the room, taking in all the signs of life. A jacket hung on the hook next to the door, a pile of shoes below it. A cup of tea sat unfinished on the coffee table. A blanket was askew on the couch next to a single divot where someone had sat not hours before. There was a pile of papers on the desk in the corner - what looked like flight schematics - and a pair of glasses next to a few red pens that Harry knew would scratch furiously over those schematics that were less than perfect. Above the desk, neatly tacked to the wall, were the detailed depictions of different types of aircrafts, marked with arrows indicating their specs. The mantle above the small fireplace held the only personal effects. A few framed pictures of what Harry guessed to be Louis’ family based on the resemblance. Louis wasn’t in any of the photographs, probably hadn’t been around when they were taken. They’d most likely been sent to him when he was off on tour somewhere far away, lovingly kept and displayed as a reminder of why he had fought so hard that November day six years ago.

 

On final assessment, the living room was warm and comfortable, but clinical somehow. Even the pictures weren’t enough to make this place a home. It was merely a place to rest, a place to work, not a place to live. Harry wondered if it was because it was a place meant for only one.

 

Louis came back through the doorway, donning a fresh shirt and joggers, with a pile of similar clothes and a towel in arm. His hair was still damp and his skin was still dewey. Harry could still smell the salty sea on him when he got close enough.

 

“They might run a bit small,” Louis commented, looking at Harry’s frame and then at the clothes he offered. “Then again you tend to like things that run a little tight if memory serves correctly.”

 

Harry gave him a faint smile, remembering happier moments. He accepted the warm, soft apparel and had to fight the urge to bury his face in the fabric. Instead he set the clothing on the coffee table and took off his jacket, hanging it next to Louis’ on the second hook. This might be the first time it had been used since Louis had moved in. He toed off his boots and left them next to the pile of Louis’ shoes. He picked up the towel on the bottom of the pile of clothes, but didn’t use it quite yet.

 

“Thanks for letting me stay,” Harry told him softly, worrying the fabric between his hands. “I don’t think I could have gone back to mine. Too many…”

 

_...reminders._

 

Not the good kind that made him smile. The kind that made him endlessly ache.

 

Louis nodded gently. “I know. You’ve been used to sleeping with the birds lately. Can’t be good for your back, hard floor and all.”

 

Harry shrugged, but couldn’t disagree. “It wasn’t so much the floor that made it difficult to sleep,” he said. “I’m not used to sleeping alone.”

 

Louis’ face grew serious, lip bitten until it was white. “I think maybe I’ve become too accustomed to sleeping alone,” he finally replied.

 

“It’s been a long time?” Harry asked.

 

Louis took a deep breath, but he met Harry’s eyes when he said, “Yes.”

 

“For me too, Lou.”

 

Harry’s admission seemed to settle Louis, that they were on equal footing here, equally out of practice. But it didn’t discourage the desire, the need. Harry felt it coursing through him when he lifted the damp shirt from where it was stuck to his chest, then off entirely. Louis studied Harry with those same shrewd eyes that had been watching him since the first day here.

 

Harry let the shirt drop to the ground with a wet slap. Neither of them flinched at the sound, too caught in one another. Harry shivered as the cool air hit his damp skin.

 

“Let me,” Louis breathed.

 

He swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing under his scruff, and stepped forward into Harry’s space to reclaim the towel hanging from his hand. With gentle sweeps of terry cloth, he dried Harry’s chest, then his back. He finally settled the towel over Harry’s hair, giving it a few rubs before dropping the towel to the ground with the shirt. His fingers shook on their path down the center of Harry’s chest, ending at the button of his jeans. His eyes, so blue in the dim light of the room, flicked up to Harry in quiet question. Unsure where he was usually certain. They’d done all of this before, but it felt different tonight. Meant more.

 

Harry took Louis’ hands in his and moved them back to his chest, right over his sparrows. He held them there, held Louis close, until Louis’ breaths were more even.

 

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispered. “You know from personal experience that I’m usually better at this.”

 

Harry shook his head with a small smile. “I like it this way too. I like it because it’s you. Because now I know you.”

 

“And yet you still want this...want me,” Louis said, voice thin with disbelief.

 

Harry was quick to show Louis just how much. He wrapped his arms around Louis’ back and pulled him closer until they were pressed together. Harry could feel Louis’ dry warmth against his bare skin and shuddered as it soaked into him. He bent his head down to brush his lips over the sensitive spot just beneath Louis’ ear. Louis sagged against him, head rolling to the side to give Harry the space he needed.

 

“I never stopped wanting you,” Harry breathed against the shell of his ear.

 

Louis pulled back just long enough to rid himself of his shirt, then he was guiding Harry backwards towards his bedroom. In the darkness, Harry couldn't see much of Louis' room, only the lone bed with rumpled sheets at the center. Louis gently eased Harry down on its soft surface before kneeing up on the bed, fitting his hips over Harry’s as he looked down at him.

 

Louis traced a finger down the chain of Harry’s tags, lifting them away from his skin. He held them in his palm and stared at them for a long minute. In his eyes, Harry could see the silent war he was waging. Harry watched him from his place on the bed, giving him the time he needed. When Louis finally moved again, it was to try to lift the chain over Harry’s head.

 

This time, unlike all the others, Harry stopped him.

 

“No. Come back to me. Leave the past where it belongs. Be here with me right now. Be here with all of me.”

 

Louis’ eyes were unfathomable as he let the chain slip through his fingers, back to its rightful place.

 

“I don’t deserve this. You. I don’t get to keep taking things from you without giving anything back. I’ve taken so much already, Harry.”

 

Harry smiled up at him, placing a palm against his cheek. “You’ve given me peace. Six years, I’ve been adrift. Looking for an anchor. Looking for answers. I’ve got them now. I’ve got you.”

 

Louis dropped down until he was surrounding Harry, caging him in with his arms, foreheads touching. Harry just held him, with the memories of the past between them, sharp edges pressed into both their chests.

 

Harry’s lips touched Louis’ in a kiss that barely classified as such. “He didn’t die for nothing.”

 

Harry felt the single wet drop slide against his cheek. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t sure who it belonged to because they were both spilling tears. Louis’ eyes were swimming, blue like the sea, like the sky, like everything Harry loved most.

 

The next kiss was a breaking wave. Harry let himself drown in it as their lips met like tide to the shore. Again and again they came together, tasting salty tears over the familiar flavor of one another. Harry’s fingers gripped Louis’ waist, pressing into his soft skin. Louis’ were equally bruising as they clutched Harry’s chest. In synchrony, their hips started to move, searching for friction.

 

Louis broke from the kiss, both of them taking the opportunity to steal a few gasping breaths. He slid down Harry’s body until his fingers could find the button of Harry’s jeans again. This time, there was no hesitation before he popped it open and dragged the zipper down. Harry groaned, hips rutting up into the air. Louis tugged until Harry’s jeans were mid-thigh, then struggled to get the water heavy fabric the rest of the way off. Harry hiccuped a wet laugh when Louis accidentally took a knee to the side in his efforts.

 

“Your damn Bambi legs,” Louis muttered, devoid of any real bite. He made up for it by bending down to sink his teeth into one of Harry’s thighs as he threw the jeans over the side of the bed.

 

Harry wrapped one of those mocked legs around Louis’ waist and tried to pull him closer, but Louis resisted.

 

“Wait. Just...there’s something…”

 

Louis tugged at his hip, snapping the band of his pants when Harry’s sluggish body didn’t immediately move to follow. After a bit of struggle, Louis finally turned Harry on his stomach, sitting between his lazily spread thighs.

 

Harry shuddered when Louis’ hands fit themselves to his backside. His fingers squeezed briefly and then tucked beneath the band of Harry’s pants, slowly pulling them down to reveal Harry’s pale skin. With his pants bunched just under his cheeks, Harry stopped breathing.

 

“Harry,” Louis murmured. Harry gasped when one of Louis’ fingers brushed its way down the cleft of his arse. He pulled it away for a moment, and when it came back, it was slick with spit.

 

Harry’s hands gripped the comforter as Louis started to stroke over the tight ring of muscle.

 

“Please,” Harry panted into the pillow.

 

“What do you want?” Louis asked. “Tell me and it’s yours.”

 

_You._

 

“Your mouth,” Harry said instead. “I want...I want your mouth. There.”

 

He’d never dared to ask for something like this before. But now it was all he could think of. The intimacy of it. The fact that it was something he hadn’t shared with anyone in his few brief sexual encounters. Harry was no virgin. But this was something he’d never done before.

 

He’d never given his heart either. Something else he knew he would surrender by the end of the night, if he hadn’t already.

 

Louis pressed a kiss to the dimples at the bottom of Harry’s back, framing his spine. Then a kiss was dropped lower, just north of his tailbone. Louis palmed Harry’s cheeks again and gently pulled them apart. Harry buried his head in the pillow at the first touch of Louis’ hot, wet tongue to his most sensitive area, naked and exposed.

 

Louis’ skillful mouth was just as fierce in this act as it was when that sharp tongue of his was carving Harry to shreds on hops. Harry could do nothing but submit to the pleasure as his nerve endings fired off like mines, wreaking havoc on his body. Louis’ tongue mercilessly teased his flesh, and Harry’s hips alternatively ground down against the sheets and back against Louis’ relentless mouth.

 

“So good,” Louis slurred, breath tickling Harry’s wet skin. “I can’t get enough of the way you taste. Every part of you.”  He took a few breaths and then dove right back in. With each flick of Louis’ tongue, Harry was pulled closer and closer to the edge.

 

At the precipice, Harry’s hand pounded down on the mattress. “Stop, stop. Louis. Stop.”

 

Louis’ mouth instantly pulled off. Harry could feel his sudden tension in the way his hand reached out to soothe Harry’s back. “Are you alright, love?”

 

Harry nodded, catching his breath. His entire body was buzzing, screaming at him to hurtle himself over that edge he was clinging to so desperately. But he didn’t want this to end yet.

 

“You. Want to do this for you,” he barely managed. Anything to get himself back under control. “God, I’ve been dreaming of getting my mouth on that arse of yours for ages.”

 

“We’ve got time for that later,” Louis said as he dared another dangerous lick. “Let me make you feel good.”

 

Harry had to reach back and tangle a hand in Louis’ hair to keep him from going back to his previous mission. Louis pecked his left cheek one last time before allowing Harry to pull him away.

 

“It’s not just about me,” Harry said, meeting Louis’ eyes over his shoulder. He rolled to his back and sat up, abs clenching under Louis’ fingers. Harry brushed a kiss at his sweaty hairline and wrapped his arms around him. “You deserve to feel good too. Tell me what _you_ want.”

 

Louis swallowed heavily. His eyes darted back and forth between Harry’s in such close proximity. “I want to feel you. Inside me. You’re already here,” he said, tapping his temple. “And here.” His hand pressed to his chest. “I want you everywhere.”

 

Harry nodded, unable to say anything else in the face of what was about to happen.

 

Louis rolled to the side for a moment to retrieve the necessities from his nightstand. He came back with a small bottle and a condom. He took a deep breath and then handed them to Harry, trusting him to take it from here.

 

Silently, Harry set the condom down next to him on the bed and then uncapped the lube. He coated his fingers and looked up at Louis. In his moment of distraction, Louis had seen to his joggers and pants and was naked beside him, looking so devastating that Harry was rendered incapable of doing anything other than staring. His tattoos were dark across his tan skin, shadowed even more heavily in the dim light. Louis brushed his fingers over the front of Harry’s pants, where the wet spot over his raging arousal was growing by the moment. Then he slowly pulled them down until Harry was the same as Louis, bared in every way possible now.

 

“How?” was all Harry could manage.

 

“Like this. Just like this,” Louis said, straddling Harry’s hips and laying down on his chest again. He guided Harry’s hand back and shivered when Harry made contact with his entrance. Harry rubbed over the puckered skin, pushing against it but not quite breaching yet.

 

“Just go,” Louis hissed, face pressed to his skin. “Come on. Do it.”

 

Harry rubbed his clean hand down Louis’ back, which was already coated in a fine layer of sweat. “I won’t hurt you.”

 

“I’ve hurt you,” Louis mumbled against his throat.

 

“It’s not an eye for an eye. We’ve both been hurt enough.”

 

Louis lifted his head and looked up at Harry. They watched one another for a moment, and then Louis pulled himself up and laid a kiss above Harry’s eye, over his scar. He let his lips linger there as Harry slowly and gently pressed a single digit into his tight heat. Louis’ body shook against him, arching at the sudden excess of sensation.

 

Harry opened him devoutly, pacing his movements against the responses pulled from Louis’ body above him. He could feel how hard Louis’ heart was beating against his chest, pressed so close, because his heart was beating in the same frantic rhythm. He felt every one of Louis’ exhales because it was matched to his own inhales. When Louis stopped breathing for a moment after Harry brushed his prostate, Harry nearly passed out from lack of air.

 

“I’m ready. I’m ready now,” Louis chanted, writhing easily against Harry with how slick they both were.

 

Harry knew Louis was being honest this time, so he slid his fingers free and fumbled to open the condom. When the package was ripped open, Louis did the honors of rolling it down his length. Harry needed no encouragement, as hard as he was, but Louis still gave him a few slow pulls, hand covered in more lube.

 

Louis pushed himself up until he was seated over Harry’s pelvis. Harry’s hands fit themselves to Louis’ hips, and Louis lined Harry up against his entrance. Then he sank down.

 

They both moaned, louder than the rumbling thunder of the fading storm. It was a slow descent, and when Louis was fully seated, they were both already shaking apart. Louis took a long minute to let the ache pass before he nodded.

 

Harry gave a tentative thrust up and Louis groaned in pleasure. “Again,” he pleaded.

 

They looked no where else but at each other as Harry’s hips started to move, setting the pace. Louis followed, rolling his hips in the perfect match to Harry’s bucks. With his hands pressed to Harry’s chest to stabilize himself, he rode Harry so hard his head was spinning. Harry wondered if they were producing their own G force. Just like in a negative G dive, Harry fought to remain conscious, muscles clenching and lungs screaming for oxygen. Louis threw his head back, mouth opening and closing, breaths coming out in hiccuped gasps like they would in the crushing force of going vertical.

 

“I can’t,” Harry grunted. “I have to…”

 

Louis collapsed down on top of him, arms too exhausted to hold himself against gravity any longer. The new angle dragged his cock along the hard plane of Harry’s abs and drove Harry’s dick against his prostate with every thrust. Louis sobbed out his breath and buried his face against one of Harry’s sparrows, mouthing at it’s wings as he shot between them, coating their stomachs in his release.

 

Harry followed him right into that nose dive, letting gravity take his breath away too.

 

_“Plenty of things to leave you breathless down here too.”_

 

Harry could feel Louis’ panting breath against his neck as he held him close, still wrapped in his tight heat. He pressed a kiss to the crown of Louis’ head and felt Louis shudder on top of him, around him. It was the best feeling he’d ever had in his entire life.

 

_“Find something that makes you feel like you’re flying even when you’re not.”_

 

Still a bit lightheaded, Harry figured that the view from the ground right now was competing pretty heavily with the one up in the stratosphere.

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

It took long minutes for either of them to come back to the surface. With Louis still curled up on his chest and Harry’s softening length still surrounded by his heat, Harry found it difficult to summon the will to move. Eventually, when their sweat - and other bodily fluids - started to dry, the stickiness drove them to untangle their bodies and pad to the bathroom to clean up.

 

After wiping flannels across their skin - and Louis brushing his teeth with a cheeky wink - they crawled back into bed, throwing the messy comforter off before sliding in. They laid down facing one another, limbs entwined beneath the clean sheets.

 

Louis teased his fingers through Harry’s tangled curls, now dry of the rain. He continued his attentions across Harry’s cheekbone, then along his sturdy jaw, finally passing over his brow. Louis traced the scar that he had laid his lips upon in the heat of the moment. He treated it tenderly now, fingers gentle as not to cause pain. But he didn’t look at it with revulsion or pity. He had his own scars, except his had been self inflicted with ink.

 

Harry grasped Louis’ wrist and brought it closer to better inspect the tattoos scattered on his right forearm. He sifted through them until he found the small paper plane, a dotted trail in its wake. He followed the looping line with a finger until it rested on the folded wings. Then he pressed his lips against it. Louis’ lips were waiting for his when he was done.

 

“Why didn't you tell me before?” Harry asked, no judgement, just curiosity.

 

“Besides the obvious legalities, which I’ve blown to hell now, I don't think I was ready. Not until last night. Not until I almost...lost you.”

 

“You said I would have been fine.”

 

“And I believe that. But that's not the way I'm talking about. After you landed, when you walked away from me. I thought that was it. I’d panicked and fucked everything up. And then you couldn't even look at me. I knew that telling you the truth might be my only chance to set things right, even if it meant letting you go. You’ve deserved to know all along. I know how much it meant to you. I should have told you from the start. Or at the very least before I started anything physical with you. But I just couldn’t no matter how many times I tried to find the words. That was just me being a selfish wanker, I guess.”

 

“Not out of character then,” Harry teased, earning a set of teeth marks in his shoulder. “But I understand why you kept it from me. I think maybe it would have been worse if I knew from the beginning. I might have…”

 

“Hated me?” Louis supplied.

 

“No,” Harry said with a frown. “Judged you unfairly, maybe. Not listened. Not learned.”

 

“You would have had every right.”

 

“But I’m better because I didn't know. And it wouldn't have changed what happened. We both needed to be ready to deal with it. I think maybe I had to fall myself to be able to look you in the eyes now and really understand what the impact feels like.”

 

And he did. Harry knew his pain, had carried its weight himself. It was comforting to know he shared that burden with someone who knew just why his heart had been shattered. Louis had stitched up his own broken heart=, and still found the strength to wear it on his sleeve. Maybe Harry could too.

 

“Tell me about him,” Harry asked, fingers lazily stroking the tattoo again. The pretty little plane. “Tell me about who he was with you.”

 

Louis smiled. “He was a real hard ass.”

 

“Now I know where you learned it from,” Harry hummed.

 

Louis poked at his ribs, “As I was _saying_. He was a real hard ass, but only when it came to flying. He demanded perfection. He never treated us like students. We were his equals, his peers. He never went easy on us. Never talked down to us. If you fucked up, he was quick to tell you exactly how, but in the next breath, he told you how to rise above it. I’ve never had a better mentor. Never met a better man. Don’t think I ever will.”

 

“I know the feeling.”

 

“I don’t know how, but he saw something in me. To everyone else, I was all bluster, an annoyance who unfortunately happened to be good with a yoke. But your dad took me aside on Day One and said that if I wanted it, if I was willing, he would make me into the best pilot in the Navy. That he thought I had that potential. He said that if I wasted it by being a bloody idiot, I would be his biggest disappointment. And if there was one thing we all knew, even from the start, it was that you did not disappoint Captain Styles.”

 

Harry chuckled. “Yeah. I’ve gotten that speech a fair few times too.”

 

“I was still a dick to my fellow recruits, to all the other instructors, but your dad? Nope. My undivided attention and utmost respect.”

 

“I think he would have liked that it was you. The one to train me. If it couldn’t be him. He would have wanted it to be you.”

 

“I hope so. I also hope he wouldn’t have minded me coming home with his son to meet him as more than just his progeny’s instructor. Although I know I still have some work to do to earn the boyfriend title. I’ll have to be happy with Commander for awhile. Maybe Louis if I’m lucky. Hell, I’ll even settle for vulture again.”

 

Harry pulled him closer. He nuzzled his nose into Louis’ messy fringe. “No more talking tonight. I’m exhausted. I can’t think about titles - avian or otherwise - right now. I can’t even remember my own title.”

 

They both stiffened at the joke as it fell flat between them. Because it was only funny if Harry had a title. As of now, he didn’t any more.

 

“What are you going to do?” Louis asked.

 

Harry didn’t have the answer, so he just said, “Sleep.”

 

Louis searched his eyes, a hundred questions and protests on his lips, but he didn’t voice them. Harry had already heard his argument. There was nothing to be done about it now, so Harry didn’t want to waste another moment fighting when there was so much more he’d rather be doing. The first on that list was licking a stripe up Louis’ throat, ending in a searing kiss against his pulse point.

 

They kissed until they both fell asleep like that, chest to chest, with lips still trying to press against whatever skin was available.

 

Hours later, Harry was awoken by another line of storms rolling in from the coast. In the dark, with lightening providing the only means to see each other, they gave themselves up to one another again. With Louis buried inside him, Harry found himself in tears for a third time that night. He had finally given up his heart, but knew that by doing so, he’d also taken one in return. It wasn’t fair to do that in this world, where love meant living with the knowledge that it would likely last less than a lifetime. But if anyone understood that, it was the man who was shuddering his release deep into Harry’s willing body.

 

Harry came, and thirty minutes later when the storm was over and Louis had fallen asleep, Harry left.

 

As the light of dawn peeked through the parting clouds, Harry folded up a paper plane and set it on the empty pillow next to Louis, still warm and indented.

 

The words scrawled beneath the folds echoed in Harry’s mind as he quietly left Louis’ cottage and headed to the row of recruit cottages on the outskirts of Fort Acaiseid.

 

_If anyone could keep me on the ground, it would be you._

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Harry knocked on the door to the cottage while the sun was still kissing the horizon behind him. He waited a long minute in the early morning chill before he could make out the sound of soft footsteps approaching the door. When it opened, a bleary eyed and disheveled looking Zayn stood in its frame.

 

“Harry,” he mumbled, still probably half asleep given that his amber eyes weren’t even fully open. “Time’s it?” he asked, looking down at his wrist only to see nothing but his own skin. With a frown, he peeked over Harry’s shoulder to see the position of the sun and then groaned. “You better have a good reason for waking me up at the arse crack of dawn. The birds aren’t even awake yet, aside from you, Sparrow.”

 

Despite his grumblings, he opened the door wider and nodded his head for Harry to come inside. Harry followed him through the cottage - nearly identical to his own next door - until they ended up in the kitchen. Zayn shuffled around the small space to the stove, flicking on the burner to heat a kettle of water.

 

“Li said you were leaving,” Zayn commented as he searched for a pair of mugs in the cabinet.

 

“Haven’t yet,” Harry said.

 

“Can see that,” Zayn snorted. “Seeing as you decided to volunteer yourself as my alarm clock this morning.”

 

Harry smiled at Zayn’s frame, drowning in a faded Navy shirt that had probably belonged to Liam at some point given the width of the shoulders. He watched Zayn putter around the kitchen for a bit before he decided to make his reasons for the clearly unappreciated visit known.

 

“I decided it’s time I take you up on your offer,” Harry told him. He settled himself onto a stool at the island counter and rested his hands on the surface. He looked down at his wrists and could already see it there, see the lines that would soon cover bare skin.

 

“Mm?” Zayn asked when the kettle started to hiss. He was quick to turn it off before it rose to a full blown whistle, so as not to wake up Liam.

 

“You do most of your work free hand?”

 

Zayn’s eyes cleared a bit when they looked back at Harry. His gaze traced over Harry’s collection of tattoos, taking inventory. He was considerably less surly when he said, “What did you have in mind?”

 

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the rough sketch he’d made right before he’d folded the note left for Louis. He pushed the scrap of paper across the counter toward Zayn’s waiting hands.

 

Zayn looked at it and gave a single nod. “Should be no trouble. Where?”

 

Harry tapped a finger over the top of his left wrist. “Here.”

 

“Alright. Since I’m already up. Just gotta go unpack my gun and dig up some ink. Black?” Zayn asked, looking at all Harry’s other colorless pieces.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why don’t you see about starting that tea brewing while I go get my stuff.”

 

A few minutes later, two steaming cups of Yorkshire were sitting on the island when Zayn returned with the makings of his poor man’s tattoo parlor. He was also shirtless now, his own myriad of tattoos on display. While the setting might not be conventional, he set everything up on the counter like a seasoned professional, and Harry had no doubt his art would rival that of anyone else who wielded a tattoo gun for their work.

 

Once Zayn had meticulously checked his supplies, he silently reached for Harry’s left hand. He set it down on the table in front of him and examined his canvas for a moment in the bright light shining through the kitchen window. His lips pursed as the image in his mind started to take shape. Then he started the proceedings that Harry knew very well by now.

 

A quick swab of rubbing alcohol, the drag of a razor clearing the fine hairs, a dab of salve to ease the needle’s slide. The buzz of the gun settled Harry as it always did, the same way the pain did. Zayn only paused long enough before dropping the needle to ask, “You good with pain?”

 

Harry shrugged, careful not to move his wrist. “Been through worse.”

 

Zayn nodded once before the first sting assaulted Harry’s skin.

 

Zayn worked in peaceful quiet as he brought Harry’s concept to life, even more striking in his simple, elegant style. Every so often, he dipped the needle into the well of dark ink before bringing it back to Harry’s wrist. His hand was steady and quick as the pain started to wear off into dull annoyance after the first few minutes. Harry always like this part, when he could focus on the craft of the tattoo artist and not on how his skin felt like it was on fire.

 

Zayn had the initial outline of the tattoo finished when he spoke next. “How are you doing?” he dared, eyes flicking up to Harry’s face for only a second before they dropped back to his work.

 

“You mean with the tattoo or just...in general?”

 

Zayn smiled. “Either. Both.”

 

“Tattoo’s fine. As you can tell, I’m not a novice with them. And for the second part...”

 

Harry didn’t really know how to answer it yet, so he just let it hang there unfinished.

 

Zayn’s eyes narrowed and his tongue poked out of his mouth for a moment while he worked on shading the bottom edge of the tattoo. “You know, we all have scars,” he said, taking a break to get more ink. With his free hand, he tapped the place over his unmarred brow, looking at where Harry carried the ugly manifestation of his failings. Then Zayn’s hand dropped down to brush over his chest where Harry knew he bore his own physical reminders of a past he’d rather forget. “Yours are just more visible. And more fresh. But sometimes it’s not so easy to see them.”

 

Harry thought of Louis and his tattoos. Of all the damage done that couldn’t be seen on his skin. He thought of the way Louis had kissed his scar hours ago, lips tender and full of empathy.

 

“Doesn’t make them any less painful,” Zayn continued. “Any less in need of closure.”

 

“I think I’m working on that part,” Harry replied quietly when the needle touched down again.

 

Zayn smiled, a small curl of his lips. He brushed a cloth over his work, removing extra ink. “This part of the suture?”

 

Harry looked down at the beautiful shape forming on his wrist. At what it represented.

 

“It’s a start.”

 

By the time Zayn had the tattoo finished, Harry could hear Liam starting in on his morning routine down the hallway. Zayn’s face softened at the sound of Liam humming in the shower. He shook his head fondly while he tended to the aftercare of Harry’s piece, gently brushing antibacterial ointment and witch hazel over Harry’s raw skin. When he was done, Harry had his first real chance to admire the newest addition to his collection.

 

He traced around its edges, careful not to touch it directly, and marveled at how stunning the dark ink looked against his pale coloring. It was exactly how he envisioned it looking. He couldn’t wait for it to heal so he could brush his fingers over it whenever he felt the need.

 

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered reverently, unable to take his eyes away from it. “Thank you, Z.”

 

Zayn squeezed his shoulder. “Happy to do it. Looks good. Should probably bandage it, though.”

 

Harry nodded ruefully, but it would only stay hidden for a few hours while the healing started. It would be a part of him forever after that, always visible. A scar, but one he’d chosen this time. One he wanted.

 

When Zayn had it covered with a sterile absorbent pad, Liam finally made his entrance into the kitchen. He was wearing the same Navy shirt Zayn had on earlier, shoulders dotted with droplets from his wet hair.

 

His eyes widened when he saw Harry in their kitchen. “Oh. Harry. Hi,” he said, guilt clear in his puppy dog eyes.

 

Harry lifted his bandaged hand and waved once. “Hi Liam.”

 

Liam stepped tentatively into the room, eyeing his RIO for guidance. Zayn gave him a lopsided smile and pushed his unfinished mug of tea toward the seat at his side. Liam was quick to follow directions, stopping only long enough to wrap his arms around Zayn from behind as he passed and press a kiss to his dark bed head. He settled at Zayn’s side and finished the lukewarm tea in one long sip before looking at Harry again.

 

“I’m sorry,” Liam started.

 

Harry shook his head. “No. You did the right thing, Liam. Thank you.”

 

Liam sighed in relief. “I figured if anyone could talk you down, it was him. He did it once. I hope he was able to do it again.”

 

Harry looked down at his bandaged wrist. “I think he was trying to talk me back up this time.”

 

“Then you may need those wings back,” Liam replied.

 

“I’d best be going. I don’t want to take up any more of your time. I’m sure you both have family coming in for the ceremony and want to spend some time with them. Again, congratulations. You both deserve it.”

 

Liam clapped Harry on the back when he got up. Zayn just winked, offering, “don’t forget to use bloody lotion on it, ya sentimental wanker,” as his parting regards.

 

When Harry got to the door, Liam’s voice called out to stop him. Harry turned to see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against its frame with Zayn tucked under his arm. “See you this afternoon?” Liam said, voice rising at the end to make it a question.

 

“I’m not sure that’s entirely up to me. I’m about to find out.”

 

Harry left his friends in their soft morning state and headed off. With his left wrist still throbbing, he decided it was time to figure out the answer to everyone’s questions.

 

 

xxxxx 

 

 

The ceremony for the graduation from Premier Delta was held in the main courtyard on Fort Acaiseid, framed by impressive Naval architecture on three sides with an even more impressive view of the sea closing the square. Facing the stage, rows of seats were perfectly lined for the families and friends that were here to support their loved ones. On the stage, behind the podium, sat another row of chairs for the instructors and other high ranking officials in attendance to see off the most recent class of Premier Delta graduates. A Naval band was prepped and primed to play, and a host of low ranking ensigns were bustling around on the fringe preparing for the reception that would follow the ceremony, complete with champagne and hors d’oeuvres on shining trays. It was every bit the pomp and circumstance expected for such a high honor. With the afternoon sun shining down in a rare break from the moody Scottish weather, the recruits of 1D were to cross the stage and become full fledged members of the Royal Navy’s most elite. Weapons. Trained to fight. Trained to protect. Ready to go wherever and whenever they were called in need.

 

Harry had waited for this moment for a lifetime. And yesterday, he thought he had been prepared to give it up. Now, standing in his uniform at the end of the line of graduates waiting to hear their names called, Harry realized that you can’t deny something when it’s a part of who you are. This was in his blood. A Styles was meant to fly. But for the first time, Harry was seeing it as a choice, rather than an obligation. It took nearly making the wrong choice for him to finally see the one he really wanted. It took making an even braver choice for this one to seem easy.

 

Harry looked over at the stage as the graduates waited, sequestered from view, while Captain Cowell finished up his introductory remarks, droning on about the superiority of the program and its staff. The other graduates had informed him the self praise had been quite lengthy and entirely inflated. He thankfully hadn’t heard the majority of it, because he had been late to the ceremony itself. He spent the entire morning after leaving Zayn and Liam’s cottage walking the rocky coast on the Fort, contemplating what he was going to say when he walked into Captain Cowell’s office to fight for his future. As it turned out, there had been less need for such rehearsal, because the Captain was quick to write off the past twenty four hours as a “ _blip on the radar._ ” Harry wasn’t sure what to make of it, having prepared for more of a battle, but he wasn’t going to question it when he had his wings back in place on the breast pocket of his dress whites. Unfortunately so much preparation and internal struggle had left him running behind schedule, because he had barely made it before names were to be read. It had left him no time to inform anyone of his sudden change of mind...one person in particular.

 

Harry watched Louis now as Captain Cowell finally stepped away from the microphone and turned to an official from Culdrose to begin the bestowment of decorations. Louis was seated with the other instructors on stage, but even in his finest dress, he looked out of place. It was clear that he was distracted, tired and a bit more rumpled than he usually looked at this kind of affair. His hair fell over his forehead in a thick fringe where it was normally swept up artfully to draw attention to his eyes. Today it looked like he wanted to hide them. But he couldn’t from Harry any longer. Harry knew what sunken shipwrecks lay beneath those blue depths. It was that knowledge that made it easy for Harry to recognize the look currently lingering in Louis’ haunted eyes. He’d seen it in his own in the mirror so many times the past few weeks. It was the look of another loss. Harry wanted to tell him that this time, the sea wouldn’t claim the victory, but there was no way to do that until after his name was called and he could step onto that stage. That moment got closer and closer as the official from Culdrose slowly worked his way through the list of graduates.

 

When it was just Zayn, Liam and Harry left in line, the other graduates already eager to celebrate, Liam turned to Harry. “Hey Sparrow?” he said, brown eyes wide and imploring.

 

Harry raised his eyebrows, tearing his eyes away from the stage - from Louis - long enough to settle on Liam.

 

“For lack of a better line...you can be my wingman any time,” Liam said, clasping Harry’s shoulder. Beside him, Zayn hung his head and chuckled fondly at his pilot. Liam just shrugged, then smiled at Harry.

 

“Do I really need to say it, Iceman?” Harry asked, pretending to be pained although he could feel his own smile creeping to his face.

 

Liam shook his head. “I’ll see you up there, Harry,” he said, shooting a quick look up at the sky before the official was reading the next name on the list.

 

“Lieutenant Liam James Payne,” the official called out. “Recipient of the prestigious Premier Delta Pilot’s Trophy along with his RIO, Lieutenant Zayn Javadd Malik.”

 

Liam looked over at Zayn, and Harry watched them smile at one another, pinkies quickly linking for a moment in secret affection before they separated to walk to the stage side by side.

 

Then it was just Harry left. After the applause for Liam and Zayn died down, the crowd waited in eager anticipation as the official stood at the microphone still, the day’s duties not yet complete until one more name was called.

 

Harry could see Louis sitting up straighter in his seat, eyes surreptitiously looking around and hands fidgeting in his lap.

 

“Lieutenant Harry Edward Styles,” the official finally said. The crowd went quiet as Harry slowly made his way to the stage. It was silent until Harry took the last step up on the platform, bringing him into view. Then a single clap started from the direction of the row of instructors, growing and growing until everyone in the entire square was standing and cheering for him. No one was louder than the pack of blond haired, blue eyed guests whooping and hollering in the front row.

 

“That’s our boy!” a gruff voice called, one Harry recognized well for how often he’d heard it both equally praising and preaching to Niall as only a father could.

 

It took every bit of military training to tamp down the tears that were quickly flooding Harry’s eyes when he looked out at Niall’s family...his family.

 

After his moment of overwhelmed pause, Harry forced his feet to carry him across the stage to where the official and the instructors were waiting. The applause continued, his fellow graduates only getting more rowdy when they realized that Harry’s name being called meant that it was official, they were really here. Together. Finished. At the start.

 

When Harry stepped forward, it wasn’t the Captain or the official who held up his Premier Delta decoration to pin on his breast pocket. It was Louis.

 

The previous look of worry that Louis had been wearing was gone now, replaced with one of shining victory. His hands were nimble and sure when they gently fixed the new decoration to Harry’s collection. When he was done, he held his hand up to his temple in salute, as had been done for all the other graduates. But Harry was afforded with something special.

 

“Your Dad would be so proud, Harry,” Louis murmured, only heard by Harry amidst the celebration already starting around them.

 

“Of both of us,” Harry managed with a wide smile. Then he was being pulled aside by the rest of the graduates into a massive group hug, voices already starting into a rousing version of the _Heart of Oak_.

 

It was all the official could do to quiet the cacophony to finish the ceremony. “We have one more award to present!” he shouted into the microphone, quickly drawing attention again. Because this hadn’t been on the program. At least not the one that had been distributed to everyone in attendance at the start of the ceremony.

 

The official raised a hand, and then gestured to the side of the stage where another Culdrose officer was waiting with a plaque in hand. He marched up on stage and handed it to the official leading the ceremony.

 

“As you already know, this school has a long history of taking special young men in our service and making them into heroes. Our country’s finest. Brave and noble, always willing to put the greater good above their own lives. Many men have made the ultimate sacrifice in this endeavor. It’s not something we ask them to do, but they do it anyway. Because they understand that they lay down their lives so that others may live. In its inaugural year, we would like to present the very first Captain Edward Styles Award for Excellence in Aviation to Lieutenant Niall James Horan. His family have asked that his pilot accept it on his behalf until he can do so himself. Which we all hope will be very soon. Lieutenant Harry Styles? Please allow us to thank your RIO for his selfless service.”

 

Harry felt like he was walking in a daze as his fellow graduates all started to cheer even louder, pushing him forward toward the podium again.

 

The official saluted Harry before handing him the shiny plaque with Niall’s name etched into the gold, right below a beautiful gilded hawk, wings spread in flight. Harry stared down at it in awe, hands trembling as he traced first his father’s name and then Niall’s.

 

“It’s not _Best Arse in the Navy_ , but I think it will do,” Harry whispered to himself, a smile spreading his lips despite the ever present ache in his heart.

 

Niall wouldn’t graduate with his Premier Delta class, but he wouldn’t walk away empty handed. He would still have a trophy to hang up in his mother’s bathroom back home. And this one meant much more than the Pilot’s trophy. This one was for true heroism. The kind that couldn’t be taught or trained. Harry didn’t think anyone deserved it more.

 

The celebration didn’t stop this time as the official from Culdrose brought the ceremony to a close, letting loose the graduates to thunderous applause. Harry stood in the middle of it all, still looking down at Niall’s trophy.

 

“We did it,” was all Harry could say.

 

_“Legend!”_

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

As a newly minted Premier Delta graduate, the first peril Harry faced was being nearly suffocated to death in a crushing hug from the entirety of the Horan brood, who descended on him the moment he left the stage.

 

Harry couldn’t help but laugh as his vision was filled with nothing but blond attacking him from all angles. Molly Horan was openly weeping, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief while she tutted at her children to step aside.

 

“Move! Move, I want to see him. Jamesie, stop accosting him and let me see my boy.”

 

Niall’s brother disentangled himself from Harry with a cheeky wink before clearing space before Harry for his mother.

 

When Harry smiled down at her stout frame, it set off another wave of fresh tears.

 

“Your hair’s a mess. But you look handsome in your whites,” she blubbered, yanking him down into another Horan hug. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, letting her tears soak into his uniform, not caring one bit if it came away smudged with melted makeup.

 

“Thank you for coming,” he fought to say without shedding tears of his own. He still held onto Niall’s plaque, the sharp edges cutting into his side as Molly’s arms constricted around him like a boa.

 

She tutted, pulling back to brush off an invisible speck of dirt from his shoulder. “Oh pet, we wouldn’t miss it. We are so proud of you.”

 

Harry looked down at the plaque and then tried to hand it to her. They had more reasons to be proud today.

 

Molly smiled warmly, but shook her head. “Sorry for the surprise, but when they asked us if his family would be willing to accept it, there was really only one option about which of us would do that. You hold onto that for now. I think it’s only fitting that it be you who gives it to him.”

 

“How is he?” Harry asked.

 

Molly’s face brightened. “He’s off the ventilator. A good sign, they tell us. He hasn’t woken up yet, but he’s breathing on his own. The doctors are more optimistic with his recent progress. He’s not out of the woods, but they say he’s fighting.”

 

“I told him I wouldn’t tolerate anything less,” Harry said. “As soon as I have some time, I’ll be down to see him. I’m not quite sure what they have planned for us yet.”

 

Molly touched his cheek, then looked over his shoulder. “Looks like you’re about to find out. Seems your presence is being summoned. Go, love. Spread those wings.”

 

He looked over his shoulder to find Sophia nodding at him, beckoning him to follow. He saluted her, then doled out quick hugs to the rest of the Horan family before making his way to her.

 

“Congratulations,” she said once they were alone, weaving their way through the other groupings of family and friends crowding their happy graduates.

 

“Thank you.”

 

When they crossed to the administration building, away from the celebrations, she turned to him and put out a hand to halt him from entering just yet.

 

“I’m glad you decided to stay,” she told him.

 

“Me too,” Harry answered honestly.

 

“You know, you’re leaving here with more than just a diploma and a new decoration for your breast pocket,” she said, voice even but a bit sharp. A bit of a warning. Harry smiled, realizing he was getting the third degree not from Dr. Smith, Commander Tomlinson’s colleague, but from Sophia, Louis’ best friend.

 

“I know.”

 

“He doesn’t take risks here at sea level. But he took one with you. Again, I’m glad you decided to stay.”

 

“By the looks of it, I won’t be for long,” Harry guessed.

 

“But you’ll come back,” she replied, confidently. “And that’s what matters. You’ll take off. Fly. But you’ll always land back here. With him.”

 

Harry nodded, and brushed his hand over his bandaged left wrist. It tingled a bit still. Reminding him it was there, that it was now a part of him, more permanent than his tags or even the pendant he wore without fail around his neck.

 

“Fort Acaiseid’s home now.”

 

Sophia smiled and just shook her head. “Go on, Lieutenant. Duty calls.”

 

When Harry entered the administration building, a Culdrose officer was waiting for him, saluting him before silently leading him down the hall to one of the meeting rooms. Harry could feel his blood start to race a bit at the prospect of what this meant. It was both excitement and fear in equal measures that pumped the adrenaline through his system. Was he ready? Could he do this? Everyone around him seemed to think so. Harry wasn’t as sure as they seemed to be, but maybe it was time he started putting more faith in them...in himself. He wasn’t back to his old self yet, might never be, but maybe there was something better in this new version. Yes, he had more to lose. But that would only make him fight harder to keep it.

 

The Culdrose officer lead him through the doors at the end of the hallway and he was met by the man who had officiated the ceremony, introduced as Captain Paul Higgins, along with Captain Cowell, Liam, Zayn, and Ginger.

 

Harry was directed to sit in the empty seat at Ginger’s side before Captain Higgins spoke. “Gentlemen. I’m sorry to break up the festivities, but we’ve just gotten word from Culdrose that your services will be needed immediately aboard the HMS Elizabeth. Crisis situation. You will be assigned to the Mighty Wings squadron, and will be briefed on duties once aboard. Congratulations on your achievements in the program. But now the real work starts.”

 

Harry looked to Liam, and Liam nodded back.

 

“When do we leave?” Harry asked.

 

Captain Cowell stepped forward. “Commander Corden will fly you out at the top of the hour.”

 

Thirty minutes. Not nearly enough time. Harry’s pulse started to speed even more.

 

“You’re dismissed. Pack your things, say goodbye to your families, and be ready to go,” Captain Cowell finished.

 

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped from his seat and hurried to the door, ignoring his new squadron mates as they called out to him. He took off down the hallway at a dead sprint, panting with exertion as he slammed through the doors and raced across the quad until he was back at the graduation ceremony again. His eyes frantically scanned the crowd until they landed on a messy fringe and day old scruff.

 

Louis turned at that moment and saw Harry. He extricated himself from the conversation he was currently having with Sophia and pushed his way through the celebrations until he was in front of Harry.

 

“You’re leaving,” was all Louis said.

 

“Yes.”

 

Louis took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “When?”

 

Harry looked down at his watch. Five minutes had been wasted already. Not many more were left, and there was still so much to say. “Too soon. Come with me.”

 

Louis followed until they were away from the crowds, standing near the edge of the coast, where the cliff gave way to a sheer drop into nothing but raging sea.

 

“So I think I should probably start with an apology,” Harry murmured.

 

Louis shook his head. “No. It’s not needed. But for future reference, waking up to find the other side of the bed empty with a very concerning note left on the pillow isn’t a great way to start a day.”

 

“You didn’t hear from the Captain that I’d gotten my wings back?” Harry asked. He figured the news would travel fast, such a major turn happening on graduation day. It was pretty big gossip. The world of Naval aviation was a small one that liked to talk, as long as the topic wasn’t classified.

 

“Haven’t been on base all day. Just got back in time for the ceremony. Didn’t find out until your name was called. Pretty sure the Captain wasn’t too happy when I grabbed the decoration from his hand to pin to your chest myself. Never been so relieved in my life. Was thinking of sticking you with the damn pin for skipping out on me this morning.”

 

“Thanks for saving my uniform from bloodshed,” Harry said. “Where were you all day?”

 

“Driving around for hours looking for your cryptic arse,” he replied, eyebrow raising beneath his fringe.

 

“Why?”

 

“Your note. I thought you’d meant…” he stopped, looking down at his feet, then up at the sky.

 

“Flight in a more metaphorical sense,” Harry finished. Harry couldn’t blame him for the assumption. He’d been about to do just that when Louis found him broken at the bar yesterday.

 

“You couldn’t have just said, ‘ _see you later, babe_ ’ or something like that, huh? Had to give me a bloody heart attack. Please remember next time that my poor ancient heart can’t take those kinds of scares. You’re going to give me palpitations.”

 

Harry smiled. He really wanted to wrap Louis in his arms and hold him against his chest. Reassure him that he wasn’t going anywhere. But that was a lie. His life was no longer his own. He had his orders, and who knew where they would take him? Where it would leave _them_? All Harry knew was that he wasn’t going to say goodbye. Not yet. Unfortunately that left him little else in the way of conversation.

 

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

 

“Don’t need to say anything. But you do need to do your job, Harry. It won’t change anything between us. I promise. I’ll be here when you get back, hopefully with a few more decorations on your pocket after you kick arse up there.”

 

“Learned from the best,” Harry said fondly.

 

“We both did.”

 

Harry smiled down at the plaque under his arm. “Did you have something to do with this?” he asked.

 

Louis smiled. “Might have put in a good word. I know a few people pretty high up in the ranks. They were in agreement that it was far past time Captain Styles be commemorated with an award. He wouldn’t have wanted it for himself, so this seemed like a good alternative.”

 

Harry looked back at the distant crowd on the courtyard. He could see Ginger hugging a group of like haired people with his rucksack slung over his back. He turned back to Louis. Time was up. There was still one thing left to do.

 

Harry reached up with his free hand and lifted his dog tags off his neck. He unfastened the small clasp and gently slipped the paper plane pendant free from the chain. He held it in his palm for a moment before looking at Louis.

 

“Please,” he said.

 

Louis’ eyes widened, lips parting. He was already shaking his head before the words left his lips. “Harry. I can’t. I can’t take this. I know how much it means…”

 

“That’s why I’m giving it to you,” he said firmly. “You know why I want it in safe keeping.”

 

Louis’ face darkened. “Don’t do that. Don’t give it to me unless you plan to come back for it.”

 

Harry reached for Louis’ hand, pressing the pendant into his palm. He held his hand for a brief moment, fingers wrapped around Louis’ closed fist. The words came to him in that moment, ones he’d heard so many times in his life and now finally had the chance to say himself. “Falling in love with the sky is foolish. You fall in love with what keeps you here. On the ground. You take care of this for me, that way you’ll always have a little bit of sky with you, and I’ll always have a little bit of solid ground to keep me coming home.”

 

Louis let out a shaky breath as he reached up for his own dog tags. Harry watched as he unfastened the loop and threaded the pendant down the chain. When he put it back on, the pendant looked like it had never belonged anywhere else.

 

“Now it’s just you up there,” Louis told him, touching Harry’s tags. “Is this enough to keep you coming back down?”

 

_Am I enough?_ Harry knew he was really asking.

 

Harry’s fingers found the edge of his bandage and peeled it back. The dark ink beneath was still a bit red at the edges, a bit raised, but it was never more beautiful.

 

“I’ve got something that will hold now.”

 

Louis lifted Harry’s hand and smiled down at the anchor perfectly lined on his skin.

 

When he looked back up at Harry, the smile only grew brighter.

 

Harry raised his hand in salute, a bright smile on his face too. The first real one in what felt like ages.

 

When the helo lifted up from the ground fifteen minutes later, Harry ducking inside a second before it took off, he looked back down at Fort Acaiseid getting smaller and smaller as they ascended.

 

“Ready boys?” Commander Corden asked over the radio.

 

“Yes, Sir. I’m ready,” Harry replied, no doubt in his words this time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deep breaths. We're almost there. Only one more chapter (and an epilogue)! Much love to all of you for sticking with this story for so long. Best squadron around.
> 
> Feel free to come chat on Tumblr (RealityBetterThanFiction)!
> 
>  
> 
> Cheers!


	11. HMS Elizabeth - North Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry begins his career as a full fledged Naval pilot aboard the HMS Elizabeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry for the wait...again. I have no excuses aside from stubborn writer's block. Thank you all for sticking around to see this story through. I hope you enjoy it's conclusion.
> 
> As always, CueTheTommo and Bubblymar, my RIOs, are lifesavers. 
> 
> Enjoy and thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> xxxxx
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:
> 
>  
> 
> Wings - Birdy
> 
> I'll Fight - Daughtry
> 
> Drag Me Down - One Direction (epic get ready to battle song)
> 
> Superpower - X Ambassadors
> 
> Parachute - Train
> 
> Rise - Katy Perry
> 
> A Real Hero - College
> 
> Stand By You - Rachel Platten

**RealityBetterThanFiction's Crash-Course to Aviation:**

 

Squawking 7700 - An emergency code indicating distress when a pilot cannot communicate over the radio, usually due to mechanical failure. Basically, it's a "Mayday" code that's set by the pilot in distress on the plane's transponder to alert the nearby air traffic control facilities that help is needed.

 

 

Story starts below...Enjoy!

 

 

xxxxx

 

 

Harry had never felt G-force like this before. All he could do was stay conscious as his F-14 ripped through the clouds in pursuit of the bogey in his sights. He clenched all of his muscles, trying to keep the blood to his head as he’d been trained, with his hand gripping steady on the yoke. Behind him, Ginger chattered back and forth with the carrier’s tower letting Harry focus on the pursuit. He stayed on his target while the pilot in the MiG sliced the sky in front of him, just out of range.

 

The pilot was good. But Harry had faced better. He’d beaten better.

 

 _Is that all you’ve got, Pigeon_?

 

He viciously jammed the thrust forward and got his bandit on lock, and then the bandit was bugging out, zooming off to the North and away from Harry’s missiles.

 

Harry heaved a sigh of mixed relief and frustration, his finger still on the trigger. With some effort, he peeled it back and then pulled at his face mask.

 

“Ghostrider to tower,” he called over the radio. “Target no longer a threat.”

 

“Did you get a close look at the aircraft?” the Air Boss asked.

 

“Close enough to see that it didn’t have an allegiance to any recognizable flag. It was a MiG, alright. But it didn’t advertise itself that way,” Harry told his superiors.

 

“That confirms other reports. Return to the carrier for debriefing.”

 

“Affirmative,” Harry said, already easing the yoke back toward the direction of the HMS Elizabeth.

 

It had been just another in a long string of episodes involving the mystery fighter jets that continued to toy with the Royal Navy’s finest. Since joining the Mighty Wings squadron four weeks ago, Harry had become privy to the knowledge that he had been denied as a Premier Delta recruit. Apparently over the past four months there had been a series of aerial attacks on planes and ships stationed around the North Sea. There didn’t seem to be a pattern to the attacks at first, as no single government had been targeted. The only similarity had been that all the attacks were mounted by what looked to be the same type of plane, Russian crafted MiGs. Russia had adamantly denied the incidents, which was thought to be largely political posturing, but then Russia sent aid in the form of battle ships and surveillance planes to figure out who was trying to use their name to start trouble. After a real Russian fighter jet took out one of the false MiGs, no one questioned their alliance any more.

 

Intel had been scattered, but what they were able to pick up from chatter was that these planes had been older models that were stolen from military yards while under repair. They’d been fixed up and then stripped of all signs of political ownership. It seemed their only goal was to create mayhem...and to possibly turn superpowers against one another in moments of tension. So far whoever was behind it had not yet achieved that loftier goal. But if it wasn’t stopped quickly, it was very likely that the stress everyone was feeling could boil over to something more dangerous.

 

Once Harry was back on deck, he trudged down to the War Room to rehash his account of the recent mission. It had been a cat and mouse tactic of sorts, which Harry hadn’t been all too comfortable with, mostly because he wasn’t sure which role he was playing. They’d been successful in drawing out the attackers, but they were still no closer to knowing their identity or motives. And they didn’t even manage to take one of the planes out. In Harry’s mind, it was another failed mission. He and his compatriots had been having more than their fair share of those the past few weeks.

 

Keeping morale up was a challenge with similar results each mission. Without the demands of school work and studying, free time when not in the air was mostly unoccupied for the pilots. They spent the time burning off the disappointment by engaging in a variety of activities. Sometimes they worked out. Other times they played cards or video games. And still others, they sat around the Ready Room and just shot the shit, learning about their fellow squadron mates and picking up valuable tricks of the trade from the steely eyed vets.

 

But when Harry went to bed each night, it was still difficult to find sleep. He ran his fingers over Niall’s dog tags, which he now kept on his own chain. He reviewed his own flight performance, picking apart all the things he could have done better. And mostly, he thought of Louis.

 

He was always thinking of Louis. Wondering what he was doing, who he was with, if he was on the ground or up in the air at that very moment. Each night when his head rested on the pillow in his rack, he let himself imagine it was Louis’ bed he was laying himself down upon, Louis’ warmth enveloping him instead of the scratchy polyester blanket for which he settled.

 

In the effort to keep himself from going mad with missing Louis, Harry took to writing him letters. Old fashioned, yes. But Harry was a sucker for romance. The letters ranged from quick updates on how Harry was doing - without divulging anything classified which could get him court-martialed, of course - to longer versions where Harry penned Louis stories about growing up in his father’s shadow. He told Louis about the first time he’d been flying, the first time he remembered his Dad leaving for duty, the first time he’d broken curfew and had been banned from flying the old M-18 Dromader for an entire month. He let Louis into a part of his life that no one, not even Niall, had shared. Louis had a right to those memories now. He needed them, maybe even more than Harry did. Harry wanted to show Louis that while he may feel responsible for what happened to Captain Styles, he hadn’t stripped Harry of all the wonderful moments he had shared with his father before he passed. He hoped that Louis would understand that the only thing that could truly take Harry’s father away from him was forgetting all those moments. Denying them. Harry was tired of burying his past in the pursuit of his future. They had to co-exist now. They _did_ co-exist now, because Harry intended for Louis to be a part of that future. So he faced their past every evening when he sat down in his rack with a pen and a blank piece of paper. Each morning Harry would hand over his latest letter to the ship’s postal attendant. While he didn’t receive one in return, he still knew that his letters were being read, and that when Louis was ready, he would answer.

 

As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait for long.

 

On a night mission a month and a half after Harry returned to the HMS Elizabeth, the Mighty Wings had their first casualty. One of the other newer pilots in the squadron, call sign Tango, had been on a mission with Liam and Zayn to scout reported bandits just off the coast of Germany. In the poor visibility, Tango hadn’t been able to outmaneuver the enemy. He lost a wing to the first missile and his life to the next.

 

It shook everyone up, Liam the most for having been there but unable to help. He hadn’t been able to take down the bandit that took out their squadron mate, and Harry knew it was still eating away at him days later despite his usually steely resolve. Harry tried to help talk him through it, but he still had his own battles to fight. Selfishly, he was relieved it hadn’t been him up there with Tango. He knew another loss was waiting in his future, but he wasn’t ready to face it yet. It seemed that no one was quite ready to face more loss after what happened to Tango.

 

It shouldn’t have been surprising that at the moment when it was darkest, a little light was shed. Relief came in the form of new temporary squadron members. In the form of the Premier Delta instructors.

 

In the form of Louis.

 

Harry was on deck, tending to his plane after another failed mission, when the chopper touched down on the carrier. His heart nearly flew out of his chest, if not barred by his ribcage, when he laid eyes on Louis ducking out of the helicopter’s door. His hair was a windblown mess, a bit longer now than the last time Harry had seen it weeks ago, and his scruff spoke to the fact he hadn’t been too keen on tending to his facial hair either. His aviators highlighted his sharp cheekbones, hiding those crystalline eyes. He was dressed in his pristine uniform, but the way he wore it made him every bit the rogue he was advertised to be. On the breast pocket of that uniform was a new decoration indicating full Commander status.

 

And Harry was in love.

 

It wasn’t a sudden declaration. It had been there for a long time now. But after countless days apart with only one sided contact, Harry felt it more viscerally than possibly ever before. When Louis reached up and plucked the shades off his face, his eyes were already on Harry. He marched over the deck with determined strides until he was a foot in front of Harry. As close as he could be with an entire carrier of their professional peers around them.

 

“I got your letters,” was his opening remark, eyes wide and clear.

 

“Yet I got no replies,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

 

“My reply wasn’t exactly something I could send in the mail.”

 

Louis’s hand twitched at his side. Harry frowned in question when he noticed the bandage wrapped around Louis’ right wrist.

 

“I’ve been a little busy the past few weeks. I think I need a debriefing on the state of the situation,” Louis announced loudly. “Lieutenant Styles. Please show me to the war room. It’s been awhile since I’ve been aboard, and I’m afraid I can’t remember where it is.”

 

Harry bit down on his lip to hide his smirk.

 

“Yes, Commander.”

 

Without waiting for the rest of the new squadron members, Harry led Louis across the deck until they reached the door that led them to the interior of the carrier.

 

“I didn’t realize you were so bad with directions,” Harry commented.

 

Louis dropped his voice. “There’s only one direction I want to be heading in right now. And it’s to the nearest place where I can get you out of that flight suit. Unfortunately, I’ve forgotten how little privacy there is aboard these damn carriers. And that the reason I’ve been sent here is not to ravish you like I’ve been dying to do ever since you left Thurso six _bloody_ weeks ago.”

 

Harry couldn’t stop the smile now. “You could have fooled me by the radio silence. And though you’ve forgotten the way to the war room, I’m fairly certain you could probably remember how to get to the reactor room if you tried hard enough.”

 

Louis gave a quiet groan. “Oh I know the way _there_. Don’t fret. But we don’t have time for that kind of detour.” He stopped in the middle of the narrow hallway and looked in both directions. Then he grabbed a hold of the sleeve of Harry’s flight suit and yanked him through a door marked for storage.

 

“I thought you said no detours,” Harry barely had time to manage before Louis shoved him against the door as it closed and attacked his mouth. The kiss was desperate and blistering, six weeks in the making. And it was over in seconds. Louis pulled back, resting his forehead against Harry’s.

 

“I know. But I can’t keep you waiting for your answers any more.”

 

Louis separated from Harry long enough to reach down to his right wrist. With a quick tug, he removed the bandage Harry had noted on deck.

 

The beautiful tattooed rope ringed Louis’ wrist, looped in an infinity knot over his fine bones. When he turned it over, the part of the rope that crossed his pulse point was left broken, frayed at the edges. A reminder of past damage, but still strong enough to hold.

 

Harry didn’t dare touch it, too touched already by its very presence on Louis’ skin. Because this was an answer. It was a direct response. The completion of a set.

 

Harry lifted his left wrist and held it against Louis’ right. Louis threaded their fingers together wordlessly, the same way he’d given Harry his heart.

 

“An anchor is only as good as the rope binding it,” Louis said quietly, eyes unsure for a moment. “Otherwise you’re still adrift, right?”

 

Harry shook his head. “Not anymore,” Harry said, shaking his head. “But this doesn’t forgive you for not writing back, you know.”

 

Louis gave a breathy laugh. “I plan to make that up to you. In the reactor room. But right now, we’ve got jobs to do.”

 

Harry took a deep breath, inhaling Louis’ familiar scent before he let the momentary bubble of contentment burst. “Shall I lead the way? Or has your sense of direction returned?”

 

Louis pinched his arse. “Come on, then. We’ve got some pesky MiGs to catch.”

 

Two hours later, Harry sat in his jet idling on the runway with Louis on the next Cat over.

 

“Oi, Pigeon. Watch my six, yeah?” Louis called over the radio right before he rocketed off the carrier, engines ablaze behind him.

 

“Always am,” Harry returned, making his own ascent into the sky.

 

xxxxx

 

The infusion of new pilots was a shot in the arm for the Mighty Wings, giving them the spark they needed to keep pushing. With renewed fire, the squadron banded together in a way they hadn’t before. Harry was proud to say that the biggest reason for the change was Louis. Aside from his skills with a yoke, Louis’ most valuable asset was probably his ability to bring out the best in those around him. As a new commander who led by example as opposed to barking orders, earning the respect and trust of the men around him was a foregone conclusion. Much like Harry’s love, which only grew every time he saw Louis in his element.

 

As sure as the wind, as revered as the sky, Louis burned bright like the afterburn of his engines. When he flew, he was fearless. And everyone else followed suit. Commander Aurand was their leader, but Louis was something else. He was the heart of the squadron. With his pulse keeping them steady, they managed to take down three bandits in as many days, one of which they were able to recover intel from after sifting through the wreckage and capturing the pilot.

 

Now they had an identity for their enemy. It was an extremist group that had grown in power over the past year with pockets all over Europe. Based on what they were able to find out by interrogating the captured pilot, the aerial attacks in the North Sea were being launched from coastal Norway, where sparse population and rough terrain hid their movements. While coordinated land based missions were being conducted by the militaries of countries with known pockets of the extremists, the rest of Europe was banding together in the North Sea to deal with the nautical battles. Little by little they were chipping away at the power of the radicals. With assistance from Naval divisions all over the world, Great Britain was leading the front on the counter attack. It was critical work, and while dangerous and stressful, Harry was proud to be a part of it. He was proud to serve his country.

 

He was proud to serve under someone like Louis.

 

He was also proud to have someone like Louis in his life in general. It made him stronger. It gave him confidence. And it reminded him in moments of weakness that there was a greater force at work that could supercede any fear or frustration he felt after missions that yielded less than desireable results. There was nothing more steadying to a pair wings than love. Harry let himself catch flight on its breeze and soar like his beloved childhood paper planes.

 

He was currently looking at the white gold version of those planes sitting against Louis’ tan chest as they lay entwined together in Louis’ rack, both still trying to catch their breaths. They had skipped dinner with their squadron mates, feigning fatigue, and had stolen a few moments of privacy together for hurried hand jobs and hasty kissing. This was how it had been for the past few days since Louis had come aboard. There was never enough time, it seemed, but they made time because they had time to make up for. Nothing would keep them apart now that they were back in one another’s presence. Not even the fact that carriers were clearly not designed with lovers’ trysts in mind. The racks were too small for both of them, let alone Harry on his own, but they managed...even though they both suffered a few contusions and elbows to the ribs trying to find a workable position to get off.

 

Harry traced the edge of Louis’ chain, lying across one such blooming bruise from Harry accidentally headbutting his collarbone, and felt Louis’ chest rise and fall under his fingertip. Louis’ breathing was still erratic and labored, but Harry knew their time was almost up. The rest of the squadron would be back soon and then he and Louis would have to go back to being professionals. They would have to wait for the next moment they could steal amidst the endless stretch of hours where their only connection was loaded looks and borderline inappropriate banter.

 

He had wondered how things would change once he graduated. Logistically not much had, given the way they were still sneaking about. But the feeling was different now. When Louis kissed him, Harry couldn’t taste the hint of guilt on his lips anymore, like the bitter bite of a wine that was too young. Something had settled between them, grown and flourished with time and tenderness. There were no more secrets tainting their embraces. There was nothing telling them they couldn’t have this. They kept their privacy not out of necessity but because they didn’t want to share this with anyone else. Harry had given everything to his country, to his brothers in arms. He’d give his very life, almost had a few times. But he would not give up Louis.

 

Harry looked around at the cramped rack, at the heavy portal door that sometimes looked more like it belonged in a maximum security prison. He tried to hear the sound of Louis’ heartbeat over the ever present, dull hum of the reactors.

 

A carrier wasn’t the place to live a life. Even with Louis’ arms wrapped around him.

 

He pressed his lips to Louis’ chest just next to the pendant. “Sometimes I wonder what my Dad would be doing now if he were still here,” he mumbled against the salty patch of skin. “I wonder if he would still be flying. Or if maybe he’d be retired by now. Sometimes I like to picture him tending to the Dromader, or spinning Mum around the living room after they’ve had one too many glasses of wine with dinner. No next tour looming in the always impending future. I like to think that he’d be spending more time on the ground, at home. He always said how much he missed it when he was away. I know he loved carrier life...Navy life. But I have to believe there was something else - someone else - he loved more. And I...I want that. I don’t want to make this place my home. It doesn’t feel like home.”

 

“No. It doesn’t,” Louis whispered.

 

Louis turned then, and hit Harry with those ocean blue eyes. Harry could see it then, the future he’d scarcely let himself imagine, mirrored in Louis’ gaze.

 

A home. A family. A life. Together.

 

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Harry started, then amended. “I don’t know how much longer I _want_ to do this.”

 

Louis pursed his lips, a small frown creasing his forehead. “You’re doing just fine up there. Never seen you fly better.”

 

Harry took a deep breath. “It’s not the same. I don’t think it ever will be, without Niall. But I don’t know if I want him up there with me, even if... _when_...he comes back.”

 

A look of understanding bloomed on Louis’ face. “Ah. I see. You’re not scared of flying. You’re not even scared of sacrificing yourself. You’re scared of hurting someone else.”

 

Harry shrugged as best he could burrowed against Louis. He wasn’t surprised that Louis had found the heart of the issue. He was buried so deeply within Harry’s heart that there was nothing there he couldn’t see.

 

“God, I want him back,” Harry whispered fiercely. “But the thought of me putting him in harm’s way again...”

 

“I know, but I think he’s going to have to make that choice for himself when he’s ready. If _he_ wants to come back. As for you, there are other options, love.”

 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, lifting his head to give Louis a confused look. “A pilot can’t fly without a RIO.”

 

Louis raised an amused eyebrow.

 

“Oh,” Harry gasped.

 

Harry’s eyes widened as he realized the implications of what Louis was telling him. But could he really do it? Could he really fly alone?

 

“Ginger would understand. I think he’s always known this pairing wasn’t meant to last. A RIO of his skill will have no problem finding another pilot. I think maybe it’s worth considering. It could be temporary. Just until you know where Niall stands. You could do it, Harry. If you had to. If you wanted to. I did. For reasons much the same as yours.”

 

“Do you regret it?” Harry asked, turning to look up at Louis. “Do you ever want someone up there with you?”

 

Louis smiled, a teasing smirk. “Always been a Rogue, me.” Then more serious, “I make it work. Stag wouldn’t have wanted me to stop flying. This was the only way I could manage. And I’m not alone up there. At least not anymore.”

 

Harry rested his head back down against Louis’ shoulder, thinking of flying on Louis’ wing just hours ago. Taking down bandits. Side by side. They weren’t alone, but it wasn’t always going to be that way.

 

“You’re not going to stay aboard once the threat is neutralized, are you?” Harry asked.

 

Louis shook his head. Harry knew the answer before Louis even moved to confirm. Harry had been assigned to the Mighty Wings. It was likely that even after the extremists were dealt with, he’d stay here. Louis wouldn’t. The Mighty Wings already had a commander. Louis would have his own squadron to lead soon, and Harry wouldn’t be a part of it. Different oceans, even though they shared the same sky. Would it be enough?

 

“We’re going to be apart again,” Harry said, trying to keep the ache out of his voice.

 

Harry thought of long tours. Of his mother’s tears. Of days upon days of waiting for reunions he was never quite sure would happen. Of the excruciating pain of being told you’d outlived your beloved. Was that something he could live with? Was his future worth sacrificing trying to change it?

 

The possibilities he’d seen so briefly in Louis’ eyes were harder to picture now.

 

“Harry, when this is over I’m…”

 

He didn’t have time to finish, because voices were approaching from down the hall. Their squadron mates returning from dinner. There was a buzz and urgency to the voices that told them there was news to be heard. Another mission upon them.

 

Louis pressed a quick, but firm kiss to Harry’s lips and then rolled out of the rack. He quickly tugged on his clothes and tossed Harry his own. They were dressed, completely presentable - if still a little flushed - by the time one of their squadron mates barreled into the racks to tell them they were needed in the war room.

 

Never enough time.

 

As they sat together during briefing about the mission ahead, Harry felt Louis’ palm rest against his thigh under the table. When he sat in his jet minutes later, he pretended like he could still feel the steady warmth of Louis’ presence even with the cold, night air waiting to swallow him.

 

“Sparrow to tower. We’re a go.”

 

xxxxx

 

Everyone could sense the tides changing in the battle for the North Sea. The desperation was clear in the increasing frequency of the attacks. It seemed that every time they touched back down after a mission, they barely had time to acclimate to the sway of the sea before they were needed in the air again. It was exhausting, which was probably the extremists’ entire point in the rapid fire assaults. Fatigue bred mistakes. But it worked both ways. The enemy was just as weary. It couldn’t go on like this forever. There would eventually be a breaking point.

 

Harry fought the massive yawn brewing in his chest as he sat on the runway awaiting the order to launch. Early in the morning, they had gotten intel that there was activity to the North, more than usual. Within minutes, the radar was a scatter plot of bogeys. The emergency siren woke the pilots up, the worst of alarms clocks. The first wave launched with the pilots still a bit bleary eyed and sleep heavy. Commander Aurand, Banshee and Steele led the experienced members of the squadron up into the fight first, joining their international allies who were also sending up fighters. Harry was in the second wave, waiting for the signal if backup was needed. He ran his hand over the throttle nervously as he attentively listened to the chatter, informing him of what was going on above. Louis had been in the first wave too.

 

“Jesus fuck,” Harry heard in that familiar Yorkshire accent, warbled over the radio. “What they lack in skill they make up in disregard for their own bloody existence.”

 

“Fucker just tried to go kamikaze,” Commander Aurand added. “Went right for the German cruiser. Rogue did the honors of taking him down before the bastard did it himself.”

 

“Next time we go to Germany, remind me to demand free Beck’s in repayment,” Louis called back.

 

A few German pilots who had joined the Brits chuckled their agreement, but the light attitude didn’t last long.

 

“You’ve got more incoming,” Captain Cowell informed them, from where he had taken post with Lizzie’s Air Boss, overseeing the fight.

 

“Roger. We’ve got visual on them,” Louis replied. Harry looked down at his radar, eyes widening as bogey after bogey popped up on the screen, all headed for the few friendly blips that represented the rest of their squadron. “I think it’s time to send in the second wave.” The tone of Louis’ voice had Harry worrying instantly.

 

“Sparrow, Chevron, Bones, Dash. Proceed to launch,” the Air Boss ordered immediately.

 

Harry’s hand was already on the throttle, gaining tension. “Yes, sir.”

 

 _I’m coming_ , he wanted to tell Louis, but couldn’t. _Hold on._

 

It took about thirty seconds in the thick of the dog fight for Harry to realize that this was the final battle. This was the extremists launching everything they had in a last ditch effort to achieve their devastating endgame. The sky was littered with jets, not just MiGs, but stolen planes of all types. Ammunition was blasting in every direction as pilots tried to tell foe from friend in the flurry. With international support in the air, that task was made more difficult. It was absolute mayhem.

 

Harry’s plane shook like a leaf in a thunderstorm when a pair of enemy jets buzzed so close to him that they nearly ripped his wings off.

 

“Fucking hell,” Ginger cursed, head turning around to watch as the jets turned on a dime to come after them. “Watch it, Sparrow.”

 

Harry turned his yoke hard to the left, pulling a few G’s to start the chase. If they wanted him, they were going to have to come and get him. And he wouldn’t be alone when they did.

 

“Hi there, Pigeon. Looking for me? Ah, and I see you’ve come bearing gifts,” Louis chimed in when Harry took his wing with a tail of bandits behind him. They flew together for a few seconds before Louis called out, “Break right!”

 

Harry responded automatically, yoke driving to the right as they split up, effectively splitting the attackers as well. It was easier to pick off strays than take on a pack.

 

Harry rolled away from a spray of bullets aimed at his belly and dove toward the water, forcing the bandit to pursue. With nothing but the blue sea in front of him, he led the enemy fighter down down down. Ginger didn’t have to be told what the plan was. Like Niall, he’d come to know his pilot. He knew that Harry would use everything at his disposal to win the fight. When he couldn’t win with firepower, nature gave a helping hand.

 

Harry waited with his hand twitching on the yoke until Ginger hollered, “Now!”

 

He yanked the yoke up and fought the G force again as the plane screeched to a near halt and floated right over the water, so close to its surface that Harry almost believed he could reach down and touch it if he wasn’t locked in his cockpit.

 

The other pilot wasn’t so lucky. He didn’t have Harry’s prowess - or tolerance for Gs - and was unable to make the turn in time. The plane slammed right into the sea with a massive explosion of fire that was instantly put out by the spray of water.

 

“Always knew you cornered well,” Louis said over the radio. “Now get your arse back up here. I’ve managed to pick up a few friends and could use a hand.”

 

Harry turned his plane back skyward. His jaw nearly dropped when he saw Louis’ A-4 literally swarmed by bandits. He was taking fire from all sides, twirling and spinning like a martial artist trying to evade, but it was easy to see by the little bursts of light that some of it was making impact. When Louis had three jets on his six firing at him, he pulled back on the thrust to brake and let them all buzz right by him. The stray bullets from one of the bandits took out its counterpart in the maneuver.

 

“Looks familiar,” Harry muttered under his breath before attacking Louis’ remaining assailants zealously. He got one of them and Louis got the other. Louis spun over him when their work was done and headed off to assist Commander Aurand and Banshee with another few bandits.

 

“Sparrow!” Liam called over the radio. “Need ya!”

 

Ginger read out his coordinates and Harry headed to Liam and Zayn. They took out a trio of bogeys after a few minutes of back and forth offensives. When they finished, they looked around to see that they had strayed a bit from the heat of the fight. They were just turning around to re-engage, wing tip to wing tip, when the dreaded sound of someone squawking 7700 was relayed over the radio.

 

“Pilots, report in,” the Air Boss immediately commanded.

 

One by one, the pilots did as told. Harry waited while each pilot called out their status. All the pilots were accounted for. Except one.

 

“Does anyone have eyes on Rogue?” Captain Cowell asked.

 

“Negative,” Commander Aurand replied. “Fuck. He was with me. But he went after a MiG that had gotten a lock on Banshee. Haven’t seen him since a minute before the 7700. He on radar?”

 

“There must be a malfunction in his equipment. He’s not showing up. Find him. Now,” the Air Boss ordered. “And be careful. Radar still indicates hostiles in the area.”

 

Harry started to breathe heavily, panic searing white hot through his veins. His hand shook on the yoke, and his plane teetered along with it.

 

“Sparrow!” Liam called out sharply, still flying at Harry’s wing. “Steady.”

 

Harry took a few deep breaths, forcing the air in and out of his lungs. His plane stabilized, but his pulse refused to do the same. It wouldn’t until he had Louis back in his sights. In his arms. Back on the ground.

 

“Harry? Go get him,” Liam said quietly.

 

Harry shook his head. For as much as he needed Louis, more was needed from him. He’d promised. He thought of Louis’ disappointment all those days ago in that stuffy, little office at Premier Delta. It wouldn’t happen again. No matter the cost.

 

“I’m not leaving my wingman,” Harry said, voice cracking at the end, torn by what he wanted to do and what he needed to do.

 

“Now you decide to play by the rules?” Liam snorted fondly. “Fine. _I’m_ going to get him. And you’ll just have to tag along then, wingman.”

 

Even in this moment of heart splitting agony, Harry found himself smiling in appreciation.

 

“Following you, Iceman.”

 

They steered toward Commander Aurand’s position, the last place Louis had been seen. There was still no sign of him. More concerning, there was still no sign of any more of the reported bogeys. Until Ginger picked something up on his radar.

 

Three blips were converged around seemingly thin air, and Harry had a sickening feeling he knew what was at the center of that radar dead space.

 

“Shit,” Liam swore. “Let’s go!”

 

He took off in the direction of the bandits and Harry followed him. Their predictions were proven correct when they saw Louis at the center of another swarm, A-4 heavily battered but still trying to fight.

 

Harry saw red as he engaged, taking out one of Louis’ attackers with a missile and another by raining bullets. The last one proved to be more difficult, a better skilled pilot who was doggedly relentless in his attempts to take Louis down. The enemy saw the weakness in Louis’ damaged jet and would not stop until it was completely destroyed.

 

Harry would not let that happen.

 

Instinct had the controls, Harry’s sole focus on protecting the plane to his right, unable to protect itself. He couldn’t hear Louis’ voice, desperately missing that familiar brand of back handed encouragement, but Harry knew what he’d be saying. He let it guide him. Because he may have a lot of fucked missions under his belt. But failing _this_ one wasn’t an option.

 

_He’ll go for the easy attack, Pigeon. He’s not you._

 

The enemy tried to pull a textbook Immelmann, but Harry saw it coming even before the pilot tried to make the turn to gain advantage. Harry countered easily and kept the bandit in front of him.

 

_When you fight, you fight to win. It’s you versus them. Don’t make it about anything else but that._

 

Harry followed the bandit as he continued to circle Louis, trying to edge him out whenever he made attempts to aim ammo at the wounded jet. Even though Harry was the aggressor, it was clear the bandit had figured out that Harry’s goal was not to take down his enemy, but rather to protect his ally. Harry had shown his hand. Still, all it took was a narrowly wide missile to bring the bandit’s attention back on saving his own hide as opposed to taking another chunk out of Louis’. And it was back to one on one.

 

_Patience is the hallmark of experience. Don’t get desperate. If you’re patient long enough, they’ll give you an opportunity._

 

Harry waited, watching as the jet in front of him grew more and more erratic, like a caged bird. Harry waited for the slip. The moment of lost attention. The split second of realization that the only way out was either in a fireball or a chute.

 

_When all else fails, always remember that you’re never on your own up there. You’ve always got a friend at your wing. A good pilot would lay his life down for his wingman. And they’d do the same for you. You don’t always have to be the hero._

 

That wasn’t one of Louis’ lines. That one belonged to Captain Edward Styles.

 

Harry glanced to his right, seeing Louis in his peripheral. At his left, were Liam and Zayn. Behind him, a lifetime of lessons from his father that had guided him more than any training Premier Delta could have given him. And Niall. So far away in more than just physical distance, but still with Harry in all he did. It wasn’t one on one. Never one on one. And right now, the odds were in Harry’s favor. He pushed the position, driving the bandit closer to Louis against all natural instinct. He saw the last missile strapped under Louis’ left wing. Then it was gone, and so was the bandit, in a blazing explosion of flames.

 

_Not bad, my little sparrowhawk. Not bad._

 

Harry smiled when Louis flipped a barrel roll in celebration, unable to cheer like the rest of the pilots were doing now that the last target had been taken down. Celebration in all different languages filled the airwaves. The fight was over. They’d finally won. There were damages. There were losses. But Harry was looking at his very own victory as Louis pulled up beside him.

 

Harry scanned Louis’ plane when he got close enough for a better look. It was a wreck, bullet holes and scorch marks from both near misses and direct hits. All his missiles had been fired. Louis made a shooting signal with his hand, then shook his head.

 

_No guns._

 

He tapped his helmet.

 

_Comm out._

 

A thumbs down.

 

_Low fuel._

 

Finally he pointed backwards.

 

_Check six._

 

Harry slowed his plane for a moment, edging behind Louis to see that he had an engine out and his landing gear was fucked to all hell, tail hook bent and wheel frame busted. He wouldn’t be landing this plane without a crash net.

 

But Louis was alive. That was what mattered. And he was going to stay that way now that the threat was gone.

 

Louis’ wing tipped down, drawing Harry’s attention again. Louis held up a single finger.

 

_One more thing._

 

Louis pulled off his mask and reached down for the collar of his flight suit. Harry watched as he drew out his tags, and then pressed a kiss against the pendant hanging with them.

 

Harry knew what that meant too.

 

“I love you, too,” Harry whispered, so softly that no one listening over the radio probably even heard it. Louis still understood, judging by his beaming smile.

 

“Alright then, if the lovebirds are done,” Liam teased longsufferingly, pulling up to Harry’s other side. “Everyone else is landing. It’s time to get back. Sparrow? Want to lead us in?”

 

Harry smiled. “Sure thing, Ice.”

 

Liam huffed while Ginger and Zayn laughed. Harry pushed ahead, flanked by his mates as they headed back to the carrier. All the other pilots were already on deck, awaiting the last of their squadron mates to join them so they could really start the celebration. Zayn and Ginger were bantering back and forth about what alcohol they were going to demand from their pilots while Liam made his approach. Harry saw Liam set down safely on the carrier and knew it was his turn next. Then Louis with the crash net.

 

He gave Louis one last look, followed by a cheeky salute, before he started to descend. He was about halfway there when Ginger stopped spotting the meatball when something else drew his attention.

 

“Sparrow, I think I’m...I’m picking something up,” Ginger said warily.

 

“But it’s over,” Harry said, flicking nervous eyes back up to Louis, out of the loop and out of commission. Alone. They were the only ones left up in the air. The last two.

 

“Fuck, there!” Ginger confirmed. “To the West!”

 

That’s when Harry saw it. A stragler. A MiG. Late to the fight. But still hungry for it.

 

“Ghostrider to tower! We’ve got another bogey up here!” Harry shouted into his mask.

 

“We’ve got him on radar. He appears to be alone,” the Air Boss informed him. “Are you equipped to engage?”

 

A quick look down at his instruments told Harry that, no...he was not equipped. Like Louis, all his missiles had been used. He had guns still, but his ammo was low. So was his fuel.

 

“I’m going to need back up,” Harry replied.

 

A moment of back and forth with the deck crew and their surrounding foreign allies made it clear that Harry wasn’t going to be getting any. Cats were down. Jets were spent. Harry was on his own. Well...not quite.

 

“Sparrow, what’s Rogue’s status?”

 

Harry eased his jet’s nose higher, until he was back at Louis’ altitude. Even with communication out, Harry could see the confusion clear on Louis’ face.

 

“Worse than mine,” Harry sighed.

 

Louis pointed impatiently down at the carrier, wanting to know why Harry had abandoned his approach. Or maybe ordering Harry to go back down.

 

Harry shook his head gravely. “Not without you,” he said softly. Louis’ shoulders slumped, as if he knew something bad was coming their way. They held gaze for a moment, Louis’ mask still hanging open.

 

Those eyes. A lighthouse.

 

Seconds later, bullets were aimed their direction from the incoming bandit. Harry split from Louis, peeling off in hopes that the bandit would come after him, but the gamble didn’t work as intended. The bandit went after Louis instead, forcing Harry to play catch up.

 

“Fuck,” Harry hissed, turning a sharp arc to get back to where he could cover Louis. He sent a few precious bullets towards the enemy jet, but it was too close to Louis for a clean shot. Without any way of communicating with Louis, it would be difficult to figure out a plan to catch the bandit in a trap. The best Harry could do was draw him away from Louis and then hope to hell he could switch to the offensive somehow with his limited firepower. Even if he could just buy Louis enough time to get back to the carrier until the Cats were back up.

 

But Louis would never leave. He’d be gone by now if he had any intention of it. Harry had to fight for both of them now.

 

In a stroke of luck, with Ginger reading the pilot’s patterns and giving Harry insight, Harry managed to peel the bandit from Louis’ tail. But the way he managed was to give the bandit a chance that he knew couldn’t be ignored. He exposed his jet’s belly, soft and vulnerable with his fuel tanks wide open. The bandit took the bait, as Harry knew he would. And then Harry was under fire.

 

He turned in time for his left wing to absorb the brunt of the damage, crippling but not lethal. Harry gritted his teeth knowing his plane couldn’t take much more before he’d need to abandon it.

 

 _Not again_ , he begged. _Please no._

 

Louis must have been thinking the same thing, because a second later, a flash of quicksilver buzzed past him, headed right for the MiG behind him.

 

Back home in Cheshire, the sparrowhawks weren’t the only winged predator that ruled the skies. Once, just once, Harry had witnessed the rare beauty of a peregrine falcon hunting on a cold winter’s afternoon. One of the fastest flyers, they were known for their acrobatic attacks, diving to pick apart their prey mid-air in a stunning death dance.

 

Harry was reminded of that awe inspiring sight as he watched Louis dart around the bandit, buzzing close again and again, trying to disrupt the air intake of the bandit’s engine. Trying to spin him out. The bandit’s pursuit of Harry was entirely forgotten as his efforts went into fending off his attacker. He took off in a dash for the horizon, disengaging. And Louis went after him.

 

“No!” Harry shouted, moving to follow.

 

His fuel alarms started screaming, just as loud as his shouts as he lost sight of Louis and the bandit in the clouds.

 

“Sparrow,” Captain Cowell barked. “Land immediately.”

 

“He’s still up here!” Harry yelled. “I’m not leaving him up here. He’s got no ammo!”

 

“And you’ve got no fuel. We can’t lose two. Land now. Cats are almost up. Back up will coming in less than a minute. We’ve got Shot and Steele ready to go,” the Air Boss said.

 

“Sparrow,” Ginger pleaded. “We’re on vapor.”

 

Harry wasn’t listening, he was still watching the horizon, waiting to see Louis emerge from the clouds. What he saw instead was a quick flash of light, followed by the blast of an explosion.

 

“No!” Harry screamed, banging on the windscreen. “Louis, no!”

 

One of Harry’s engines blacked out, dropping the plane a few hundred feet.

 

“Sparrow!” Ginger shouted desperately, the tower chatter just as frantic. “We’ve got to land!”

 

“No!” Harry kept saying, again and again. “ _No!_ ”

 

Harry’s second engine sputtered dangerously, more precious altitude lost. There was no choice now.

 

“Louis,” he whispered, the first tear slipping down his cheek, disappearing under his mask.

 

A light had gone out. Extinguished. And with it, the world would forever be a dimmer place. But to Harry, it was a blackout. There was no beacon to guide him home now. He was sailing blind. Living blind. Just one more casualty to a life without his light.

 

By the time the carrier was in sight, Harry’s last engine was flickering in and out, dropping him and then catching him over and over as he fought to keep his wings level. The crash net was already deployed, the jet too unstable to risk a real landing, its pilot even less able. Ginger talked him all the way in, and then their plane was skidding on its belly as it smashed against the deck, knocking Harry’s wind from his chest on impact. The net caught their nose and they were finally still. Harry was slamming his hand against the windscreen for release as soon as their engine cut. He tore out of the cockpit and sprinted to the edge of the carrier, looking up at the sky. Ginger, Liam and Zayn were right behind him.

 

“He’s gone,” Harry said, disbelieving. “He...he sacrificed himself. I was the one with the weapons. I was supposed to protect us. But he…”

 

_He needed to make amends._

 

History was a mirror for the future, but always an inverse copy.

 

Harry stood waiting for what he knew wasn’t coming. His own future suddenly changed in the span of a breath’s length. The silence around him, so rare on a flight deck, told him that everyone else was also waiting, also feeling the loss of something irreplaceable. Even the wind was still, the waves calm. All eyes were directed skyward.

 

Waiting.

 

The sudden beat of helicopter wings broke the silence and drew attention as an official chopper from Culdrose passed over the tower and landed on the deck. Harry was the only one left still staring at the horizon.

 

From the chopper a trio of men emerged, making their way across the deck as if they owned it. Judging by their heavily decorated breast pockets, that wasn’t far off.

 

Harry didn’t turn, but he still heard the commotion behind him as Captain Cowell and the HMS Elizabeth’s Air Boss met the men amidst the crowd of loitering pilots and deck crew members.

 

“Admiral Azoff,” the Air Boss greeted reverently. “It's an honor to have you aboard. Our victory was swift. My men have served you well.”

 

A child looking for praise, Harry sneered. How could they celebrate when they’d just lost one of the greatest members of their service? Harry clenched his fists as hard as he did his jaw, trying to stifle the rage...trying to dam the tears.

 

“I can see that. What I don’t see is the man I appointed as my official ambassador for the mission. Where is Commander Tomlinson?” Admiral Azoff inquired, effectively dismissing the Air Boss as if he were no better than an ensign.

 

The pause that followed answered his question.

 

Harry turned around at that. He looked upon the man asking for Louis. He was shorter in stature, but no less commanding for it. With salt and pepper hair and thick framed glasses, he bore the look of a man no one dared question. His breast pocket held more decorations and insignia than Harry had ever seen on a single serviceman. Harry had heard of him before, of his legacy, there wasn’t a pilot in the force that hadn’t. He was the most feared and respected member of the Royal Navy’s air division. Now the leader of that operation. He had been a mentor to Harry’s father. An idol. A friend.

 

And now he was turning his eyes on Harry.

 

“Lieutenant Styles,” he called, inclining his head. “Step forward.”

 

Harry’s feet did the only thing they were capable of doing under the orders of the most highly ranking official he’d ever met. They stepped forward.

 

Thankfully his arm also knew what to do while his brain short circuited. With tears still streaking his cheeks, he gave a salute and then stood there with his hand awkwardly raised to his brow as he tried to determine if this was real life or if he’d unknowingly gone into G-LOC during the battle and was now hallucinating. It seemed that everyone else watching the interaction was also wondering if what they were seeing was actually happening. Admirals didn’t routinely talk to low ranking Lieutenants when their superiors were present. The Air Boss and Captain Cowell were clearly not pleased. The Admiral ignored them entirely, attention focused solely on Harry.

 

“You fought valiantly today, Lieutenant. We were listening on the radio as we made our approach, and it was your name that I kept hearing with every take down. I’ve had an eye on you for quite some time now. Your bravery is to be commended. You’ve done your country proud.” The Admiral paused and then said, “You’ve done your name proud.”

 

Harry felt the words as he would a barrel roll. Breathless and lightheaded.

 

“Sir,” he managed. He couldn’t give another salute because his damn arm was still stuck in the one he’d given for greeting. This should be a moment of pride. The most valued praise he’d probably ever get for his performance. But it felt empty right now, because there would be no beaming smile and crinkled blue eyes looking on, just waiting to tease him.

 

_He’s blowing smoke up your arse, Pigeon. You were alright. But you can always be better._

 

The Admiral watched Harry for a long moment before he said, “I’m sorry for your loss...your losses. You’ve had too many of them for someone so young. To withstand that is noble beyond measure. I know there is no award for such sacrifice that would be any consolation. No decoration is worth the life of a loved one. I’m sorry that you’ve had to add another name to that list today. Believe me when I say you aren’t the only one who will be mourning that loss.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure what the Admiral knew, what had been told to him or what he’d been able to observe from Harry’s radio outburst following Louis’ final act...from the fresh tears still escaping Harry’s eyes. Based on the fondness of his voice, Harry had a feeling that the Admiral was among those that would be grieving, that his connection to Louis was forged on a more personal level. More secrets. This time, Harry wouldn’t get the answers because half the source was gone, and the other half would also carry it to his grave. Classified. Always fucking classified.

 

The shock at the Admiral’s words were wearing off. Captain Cowell was the first to come to his senses. He stepped up, edging Harry out as he spoke to the Admiral.

 

“Sir, we can give you a full debriefing of the battle in the War Room if you’ll follow-”

 

The Admiral raised a single hand, cutting Captain Cowell off. The Captain had enough sense to follow what was clearly a gag order, but the press of his lips gave away his irritation.

 

Admiral Azoff turned to the gathering of pilots, addressing the crowd. “I’m not surprised that we’ve had losses given who’s been at the helm, or that this little incident has taken so long to be controlled. My presence here today is about more than congratulating you on your accomplishments. I expect success. What I don’t expect - or tolerate - is inadequacy. I’ve been growing more concerned about the state of proceedings and felt a personal investigation was warranted. I’m not happy with my findings.”

 

He looked at Captain Cowell.

 

“Under no circumstance should a pilot be left defenseless up in the air. Today is proof of that. The incident with Lieutenant Styles and his RIO several weeks ago is proof of that. Under whose authority was that negligence?” Admiral Azoff asked.

 

Captain Cowell opened his mouth to answer. It was not allowed.

 

“And when has it ever been our policy to force pilots back into battle when they are not mentally fit to fight? We employ counselors. We take care of our own. The service these men provide is about more than meaningless trophies and names in the record books. It means nothing if we do not protect them as they do us. You are lucky, Captain, that your losses have not been greater. You are lucky that the skill and fortitude of your pilots is greater than the skill of those commanding them.”

 

This time the Captain didn’t dare answer.

 

The Admiral looked at Harry, then at the other pilots around him. “You deserved better. You deserve better.”

 

He was interrupted, something that rarely happened to a man of his status. But it wasn’t by anyone on the deck. It was by the splutter of an engine in the distance. Harry’s heart stuttered right along with it as he looked back to the sky.

 

The war run wings of an A-4 broke through the clouds, rays of sun like a spotlight illuminating its path.

 

“And now you’ll get it,” the Admiral said with a satisfied nod of his head.

 

_Miss me, Pigeon?_

 

“You absolute tosser,” Harry said, smiling despite the tears welling in his eyes.

 

Cheers erupted across the deck as the determined aircraft wobbled its way to the carrier, everyone eager to welcome its pilot back to the world of the living. That celebration quickly turned to chaos when everyone soon realized that this landing wasn’t going to be an easy one. Victory cries turned to shouts and orders were relayed to ready the crash net that was still ensnaring Harry’s jet. They had it ready when the A-4 made it final approach. A deaf landing, almost as bad as a blind one.

 

People cleared out of the way, allowing the jet room to land. Harry held his breath as Louis’ wings tilted back and forth like a see-saw while he dropped from the sky.

 

The seconds seemed to stretch while Harry stood by and watched Louis battle the laws of physics. He was too low. Then he was too high. Then he was nearly sideways.

 

A thousand metres. Five hundred metres. Fifty metres. Too low. Too low. _Too low._

 

And then Diana’s nose yanked up with what felt like only centimetres to spare. The screech of metal grinding against the deck was deafening. Everyone not wearing hearing protection covered their ears. The A-4 was caught in the wide net spanning the runway and it jerked to a halt, the pilot’s head pulling a painful whiplash.

 

Harry was running to the plane before the crew could overtake it. The windscreen was thrown open, a flight helmet was tossed over the side, and then the pilot crawled out, more a tumble. But Harry was there. He was there with open arms, catching Louis as he fell from the plane with limp limbs.

 

“Oops,” Louis gasped, colliding hard with Harry’s chest.

 

“Hi,” Harry whispered back breathlessly, tears already welling.

 

“My line,” Louis panted against his collarbone.

 

Harry held him tight. He wasn’t letting go. He didn’t let go when he felt Louis’ entire body shaking in his grip. Not even when Louis desperately mumbled, “ _gonna be sick_.”

 

Harry quickly lugged him to the edge of the deck, barreling through bodies in his way as easily as a plane cutting through the clouds. He got Louis to the edge just in time for him to lean over it and retch violently into the sea. Harry held him through it, soothing him with nonsense and brushing his sweaty fringe from his face. Louis only stopped shaking when his heaves stopped, then he slumped against Harry, weak hands grasping the front of his flight suit. Harry pulled him in and wrapped his arms around Louis’ body, dropping his face to Louis’ shoulder. He didn’t care who saw, ignored the flurry of conversation going on around him, the people trying to get to Louis. That could wait.

 

“You came back,” Harry whispered. “You came back to me.”

 

“Had to,” Louis wheezed, his breath warm against Harry’s neck. “Who’s gonna...be your wingman...if not me? I’ve got your six, Sparrow. Always.”

 

“Not a pigeon anymore?” Harry asked, because it was the only thing he could think to say without eliciting fresh tears.

 

“No. You never were.”

 

“I thought…” Harry started. He didn’t finish. Louis knew.

 

“It was the damndest thing,” Louis said almost awestruck, pulling back from Harry with newfound strength. He looked up at Harry seriously. “Got a little help from the most unexpected of sources. We taught you a lot at 1D. But we never taught you what happens when a bird strikes your windscreen at Mach 2. I’m chasing the bastard, running him off. The next thing I know a fucking gull hits his screen and he spins out. He tried to eject, but apparently the reason his jet was in a repair yard in Russia was because that particular mechanism was disabled. The screen blew, and so did the rest of the plane. I didn’t think I would have enough fuel to make it back, but I had to try.”

 

“ _Think of the people on the ground. The ones you protect when you’re up in the sky. You’ve got to get back to them. You’ve got to keep fighting for them._ ”

 

Harry held Louis tighter, unable to deal with just how close he’d been to losing him...losing this.

 

“Why did you do it?” Harry asked desperately. “Why did you go after him? You weren’t the one with the weapons. You were defenseless.”

 

Louis buried himself deeper in Harry’s chest. “I had to keep him away...give you a chance. I wasn’t…” he paused, then forced himself to continue, “I wasn’t going to lose another one of you. It wasn’t time for you to be reunited with your Dad just yet. Our poor little winged ally gave his life for that cause. Gave _me_ another chance. I don’t think that was a coincidence.”

 

Louis’ words sunk deeply into Harry’s skin. Deeper than the ink already there as a remembrance. More tangible than the pendant around Louis’ neck. Today there was no loss. There was only hope.

 

_Promise?_

 

 _Always_.

 

Harry looked up at the sky just in time to see a flock of beautiful gulls swooping over the carrier, headed toward the Scottish coast. Heading home. Soon Harry would be too. Maybe he already was.

 

A throat cleared, and Harry remembered that they were not, in fact, alone in the middle of the ocean like it had felt. A half circle of curious onlookers were watching them, with Admiral fucking Azoff himself right at the center of it. He looked amused. Harry wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

 

Harry slowly separated from Louis, but still kept a hand on his lower back, unable to pull completely away. He raised his other hand in salute, chest puffed out. Louis scoffed at his side, but copied his salute, if a little more sullenly.

 

The Admiral actually rolled his eyes at that. Now Harry knew this was some kind of parallel universe. “Commander Tomlinson, I see you’ve learned manners since the last time we’ve spoken. Tell me the mighty Rogue hasn’t been tamed.” Inexplicably, the Admiral threw a cheeky glance at Harry. The shade of Harry’s flush was the color of red that adorned the British flag currently fluttering in the breeze over the carrier. “I would be disappointed. I had high hopes that a little bit of that renegade attitude might just be what Premier Delta needs right now at its helm.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened as Admiral Azoff’s intentions became clear. He wasn’t the only one who seemed flabbergasted by what was being implied. Captain Cowell was red faced and positively seething. Steele and Banshee were ashen and silent, seeing the writing on the wall for their own futures. Corden was absolutely beaming, a smile on his face of the shit-eating variety. The other pilots were just pleased to bear witness to such a plot twist.

 

Louis didn’t look the least bit surprised.

 

“Eh. I’ll consider it,” Louis replied, a smirk curling his lips. The Admiral laughed. His fellow Culdrose officials looked stunned at the sound.

 

“I’m sure I can find a way to make the offer more...appealing to you,” the Admiral told him, again shooting a quick look at Harry. “But we’ll put off the negotiations until after you’ve visited the infirmary.” He looked over at Diana, still smoking and banged up in her net. “And next time, do please try to be more careful with my planes? We’ll see to getting you a new one, but let’s not make this a habit.”

 

Louis shook his head, giving his girl a loving smile. “Lady Di will be back to fighting shape after a visit of her own to maintenance. I won’t fly anything else. If you want me, you’ve got to take all of me.”

 

He turned his gaze from Diana to Harry, and then after a deep breath, intertwining his fingers with Harry’s for God and Admiral Azoff and everyone to see. His message was clear.

 

The Admiral looked down at their linked hands. “You drive a hard bargain, Commander. Good thing I’ll still be getting the better end of this deal,” the Admiral said.

 

Louis shook his head, giving Harry a blinding smile. “No. You won’t.”

 

“Oh for the love of Christ. Get a room, ya saps!” someone called out from the back of the pack, followed by a gleeful belly laugh. Commander Corden stepped around Banshee, shoving him out of the way, and started clapping. Then it was full blown applause, everyone joining him, celebrating more than just a written off pilot returned from battle.

 

When the applause died out, one by one they started to salute Louis, their new leader. The Admiral was the last one to show his respect, a hand raised to his temple.

 

Harry’s hand tightened on Louis’. Louis squeezed right back, his eyes a bit wet at this outpouring of support. He opened his mouth to speak, but was too choked up. Harry knew the feeling.

 

Captain Cowell was the the only one not saluting. Admiral Azoff noted, and made it clear it was unacceptable. “Captain, the helicopter will be leaving at 1900. You’ll be on it. Don’t fret, we’ll find you acceptable work back at Culdrose. There’s always availability behind a desk.”

 

Captain Cowell looked out over the crowd for allies, someone who would stand up for him and stop this mortifying demotion. Someone who would stand up against the Admiral. There were no takers. He reached up for his wings on his breast pocket for a moment, as if ready to hand them over. Then he stopped, gave a single sharp nod, and headed off toward the door leading inside the carrier, knowing his fate was sealed. There was no redemption from this kind of public disgrace. Only acceptance.

 

The Admiral watched him leave, completely nonplussed by the metaphorical guillotine he’d just dropped on Captain Cowell’s career. He turned to his Culdrose accompaniment and told them to ready the chopper, that they would be be leaving promptly after a few meetings. They saw to his bidding, and the crowd started to disperse, knowing the fireworks were over for the day.

 

With one last radiant smile, Louis parted from Harry to see the medics. Harry was left standing amidst the scattering crowd wondering what he should do now. His question was answered when the Admiral beckoned him forward.

 

“Lieutenant. I’d like to speak to you in private for a moment. If I may.”

 

Like there was a choice.

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

Harry followed him a few paces back as they entered the interior of the carrier. He was led to a private meeting room overlooking the flight deck that was usually reserved for the most top secret meetings between the Air Boss and visiting superiors. The door shut and then it was just himself and the Admiral in the room. This day could not get more strange.

 

“I have a few questions, Lieutenant.”

 

“Okay,” Harry mumbled nervously.

 

“Will your apparent relationship with Commander Tomlinson be a problem if you should find yourself in close company with him in a professional setting?”

 

“Um. No, Sir.”

 

“Are you confident in your abilities as a pilot?”

 

“Um. Yes, Sir.”

 

“Do you fancy a considerable pay raise and elevation in rank?”

 

“Um. Yes, Sir.”

 

“Do you preface everything you say with _Um_?”

 

“Um. It would seem so, Sir.”

 

The Admiral snorted, then chuckled. “Excellent...aside from the speech disfluency. I’m looking for good men, capable of training the future of our Navy’s finest. I’ve come to see that the best way to do that is to let the brightest stars of that future elite lead the cause instead of its relics. There is a new vacancy as a flight instructor at Premier Delta. As you can probably tell by the spectacle above deck, I’m cleaning house. The spot is yours if you want it,” the Admiral said, “but only if you’re willing to work under Commander Tomlinson - soon to be Captain Tomlinson if he plays his cards right - as the director. I will warn you, he can be quite a handful from what I’ve heard.”

 

Harry smiled. “I’m well aware.”

 

“And you’re still interested in the position?” the Admiral asked, eyes sparkling.

 

Harry looked down at the anchor tattooed on his hand. Then he looked out at the flight deck, full of the life and excitement that had always been his dream. The Admiral was waiting.

 

“Well, Sir…”

 

xxxxx

 

Harry stood on the flight deck and watched the waves ripple around the the carrier’s hull as it sliced through the water. He’d been trying to pass the time as Louis was checked out by the carrier medical team. After he’d left his impromptu meeting with the Admiral, he’d needed some time alone to process. The past few hours had been chaos, encapturing both the best and worst moments of Harry’s life. It was nice to have this small bit of peace before things took another turn again.

 

His solitude was interrupted by the clearing of a throat. Harry was smiling before he even turned around.

 

“You should be resting,” he said, no real conviction in his words. There would never be a time he would turn away Louis’ company.

 

Louis stepped forward until he was standing next to Harry, also taking in the view. The soft breeze ruffled his hair, made Harry want to reach out and run his fingers through it to right it again.

 

“I was going stir crazy. Needed air. I’ve spent too much time thinking I wouldn’t get to take any more breaths. I’m not about to take them for granted now.”

 

They stood together quietly for a minute until Harry said, “You knew.”

 

Louis shrugged and looked down at his feet. “Have done for awhile, yeah. I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything. The Admiral asked me not to say anything, and I had to respect that. I trust him. And you know I don’t trust easily. I knew he had my best interests at heart. And those of Premier Delta. The school means so much to me. It changed my life. Made me who I am. A lot of that had to do with your father. I think maybe this is a better way to pay it back to him. To give other young pilots what was given to me. Or at least I can try.”

 

The look of determination in his eyes could lead an entire army into the bloodiest of battle, believing they would command the victory. Harry would follow him anywhere. Others would too.

 

“You will,” Harry said, no doubt in his mind.

 

“I will,” Louis repeated, maybe even believing it himself.

 

“Did Captain Cowell know?” Harry wondered. It hadn’t seemed like he did this afternoon on deck.

 

“I think maybe he suspected. But he figured assassinating my character would be the way to ensure his reign. Too bad the Admiral already knew all my vices. And my weaknesses.” He looked to Harry, reaching up to cup his cheek.

 

“Strengths,” Harry amended, his hand covering Louis’.

 

“He’s taking a risk with me. But I’m going to do everything in my power to prove I’m worthy. I’ll do your dad proud, Harry. I swear it.”

 

Harry reached out and brushed his finger over the paper plane tattoo on Louis’ forearm. “I know.”

 

“That reminds me,” Louis said. He pulled away from Harry long enough to reach behind his neck and work the clasp free of the chain with his dog tags. He carefully threaded the paper plane pendant from the chain and extended it to Harry on an outstretched palm. “Safely returned.”

 

Harry didn’t want to think about how it almost wasn’t. He took the pendant and turned it over in his fingers, then looked out at the sea.

 

“Going to throw it into the ocean?” Louis teased. “ _Top Gun_ style? Or maybe more _Titanic_ , knowing your tastes.”

 

“No,” Harry said, bending down to nose against Louis’ temple as he let out a breathy chuckle. Then more serious, “Dad doesn’t belong there. He belongs here.”

 

Harry unfastened Louis’ chain again, slipping the pendant back in place. He worked it down until it was resting over Louis’ chest again. Over his heart.

 

Louis looked overcome at that. He lifted his hand up reverently to grasp the pendant. “I’ll keep this safe,” he said brokenly, eyes swimming. “Only if you promise to keep yourself safe while you’re out saving the world. I’m going to miss the hell out of you, Harry. But I’m so proud of you. The HMS Elizabeth is lucky to have you aboard. And whenever your sea legs get weary, I hope you know there’s someone who would be very happy to help you acclimate to solid ground again. When you feel like stopping through, there will always be a place for you in Thurso. I know I can’t keep you, but I want to keep this. Us.”

 

“Quite an offer,” Harry said, poorly hiding a smirk. “Sadly, I’m going to have to decline. You see, I’ve gotten a better offer from the Admiral. A permanent residence of sorts. I doubt I’ll have much time away from the job for visits. From what I’ve heard, it’s a pretty grueling schedule, led by an absolute tyrant.”

 

Louis looked crestfallen, but he squared his shoulders and nodded, as if resigned to it, as if he’d expected it. Harry could no longer sustain the charade. That kind of sadness didn’t belong on Louis’ face. When he tried to look down at his feet to hide his disappointment, Harry lifted his chin to keep their gazes locked.

Harry smiled widely, dimples on full display. “I heard the best was going to be back at Premier Delta. Couldn’t turn down the opportunity to be a part of it.”

 

Louis’ eyes lit up. They would always be the brightest of lights. Even their beloved lighthouse couldn’t compare. Harry couldn’t wait for all the sunsets to come, spent with the light at their backs and nothing but the sea and setting sun in their sights. Side by side.

 

Louis let out a loud laugh, a hand clutched to his chest. With the other, he smacked Harry’s shoulder. “You bloody wanker! God, I thought I was going to have to say goodbye to you again. Was about to tear me heart out and hand it over for you to crush when you walked away. And here you’re going to be my damned coworker now.”

 

“Lucky for us, the Admiral doesn’t seem to have a problem with fraternization in the workplace.”

 

“Yeah. As long as we aren’t caught by the recruits we’re preaching to about discipline with our hands down each others’ pants,” Louis snorted.

 

“Is that an option?” Harry inquired, “I like to live dangerously, you know. Since I won’t be taking down live bogeys any time soon, I’ll need something to keep my adrenaline going.”

 

“I think I can find a way to satisfy your needs. Without scarring the future of the Royal Navy.”

 

“Too bad there isn’t a reactor room at Premier Delta,” Harry pouted jokingly.

 

“No. But as the new director at 1D, I will be getting a plush new office with a lovely view. And a door that locks if needed.”

 

“I like the way you think, Director Tomlinson,” Harry said with a smirk.

 

“Guess you’re stuck with me now,” Louis quipped.

 

“Like a tattoo.”

 

“You’re really doing this? You’re really coming back to 1D?” Louis asked, as if he still couldn’t quite believe his luck. “You’re going to give _this_ up?” He gestured to the wide expanse of the sea.

 

Harry winked. “It feels like time to drop anchor somewhere. Acaiseid seems fitting.”

 

Louis tapped Harry’s wrist tattoo. “We do like our symbolism.”

 

“Two birds of a feather,” Harry said, puffing out his chest beneath his sparrows.

 

“Please stop,” Louis groaned. “If you’ll remember, you’ve hit your quota for double entendres already, Mister Dirty Talk. I’ll never be able to hear the words ‘ _rolling reversal_ ’ again without getting a stiffy.”

 

Harry cackled. “You love it.”

 

Louis stopped laughing, but his eyes were still shining. “I do.” Then after a beat, “And I love you.”

 

He lifted the pendant and kissed it again. When the little paper plane landed back against his chest, Harry took his own turn to place a kiss against it.

 

With their arms wrapped around one another, they turned to watch the waves.

 

“So I guess we’re going to have a whole new flock of pigeons to train now, huh?” Harry asked.

 

Louis shook his head against Harry’s shoulder. “No. There will only be one pigeon, love. I’m just going to have to come up with something else creative to harass our new recruits.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

 

Harry couldn’t wait to hear it over the radio as they chased their students over the Scottish highlands, the future of the Royal Navy in their hands.

 

xxxxx

 

Later that evening, an hour before Commander Corden was set to fly them back to Thurso, Harry was already packed and ready to go. Louis was predictably not. Judging by the state of his messy rack and locker, it would be a while. Instead of nagging, Harry decided to say his last goodbyes to the carrier. His wanderings, of course, led him to his favorite place. The hangar bay.

 

There were so many memories here. Some good. Some horribly bad. But it was still a comforting place, the slumbering planes as familiar to Harry as his own face in the mirror. Harry walked between the rows of planes, touching metal here and there, until he got to his own plane, the one that still didn’t feel quite like _his_ yet.

 

Harry wasn’t surprised when he saw the small A-4 parked in the place next to his F-14.

 

Harry approached Diana cautiously, battling a slightly masochistic desire to see the damages up close, to see how close he’d been to a very different existence. A Louis-less one.

 

He went about a standard pre-flight check, a calming ritual despite the fact that there were no more imminent threats and that Diana wouldn’t be ready to fly for quite some time still. He checked the wings, the flight gear, the tailhook, the pylons. He ran his palm over the list of initials scrawled on her belly, distorted by scorch marks from weapon blasts, nearly indecipherable. Louis would repaint them. He would never forget.

 

With a quick look around to be sure he was alone, Harry scaled the ladder into Diana’s cockpit. More memories flooded his mind as he sat in the pilot’s seat with the controls in front of him.

 

“Thank you,” Harry told her, patting her throttle. “Thank you for staying strong. For keeping him safe.”

 

Diana didn’t answer, but Harry caught sight of something tucked next to the altitude meter. He carefully removed the small folded paper airplane, a throw away note Harry had written what felt like ages ago that Louis had kept. He unfolded the delicate creases, expecting to see his own handwriting, but was met with a surprise resting underneath its wings.

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_I think I’ve been punishing myself for a very long time. My entire career, I’ve been trying to honor a chance I never thought I deserved. Until you came along. The kind of sacrifice your father made for me wasn’t one of necessity or duty. It was one made of love. I didn’t understand it until I realized I’d make the very same one for you._

 

The letter was dated at the top right corner. Three weeks ago. Before Louis had tried to do just that. Harry read on, scanning the dozens of small scripted lines.

 

_You’ve given me so much in so short a time. You shared with me an entire life and have given me hope for a future that I’d never allowed myself to want. But I do. I want it. With you._

 

_So this is me. Every bit of me. You’ve seen the scars, the worst parts. And you still welcomed me into your arms. Now I want you to know the rest._

 

Harry read the rest of the letter in silence, eyes moving hungrily over Louis’ words. With each sentence he learned more about the amazing man with whom he would be spending the rest of his life.

 

_...My mum took me to an airshow when I was six, and that was it..._

 

_...When I left for basic training, I cried the entire car ride to the base wondering if I’d made the right decision…_

 

_...Being in a cockpit just felt right. It was easy. I felt more comfortable there than I ever did on my own two feet on the ground..._

 

_...Stan was my brother in every sense of the word from when we were toddlers up until the day he passed…_

 

_...When I lost him, I lost the will to chase my dreams. I lost the will to live…_

 

_...Premier Delta was a last resort. I was going to give it all up. But the Admiral had other plans. As did you…_

 

_...I think I’m ready now. I will be. Next to you…._

 

By the time he got to the end of it he realized that this letter - while addressed to him - was not really _for_ him. It wasn’t meant as a means for Harry to come to know Louis. It was a way for Louis to come to know himself. Who he was. Who he wanted to be. Who he was going to be.

 

Harry brushed his finger over the last line above Louis’ signature.

 

_You’ve tied me down. Tethered my heart. But I’ve never felt so free._

 

_Love. Always._

 

Harry read it again, then folded the creases back precisely the way they’d been found. He put the paper plane where it had been hidden, and climbed down the ladder to head to the racks where he would - hopefully - find Louis finally packed and ready.

 

When they were on Corden’s chopper headed for the Scottish coast, Harry leaned into Louis, lips against his ear to be heard over the roaring turbines.

 

“Tell me about the first time you knew you wanted to be a pilot,” Harry said.

 

Louis smiled and launched into a story about seeing an airshow as a young lad, clutching his mum’s hand and pattering on the entire car ride home about how one day he was going to fly one of those shiny jets too...be a hero. Harry already knew. But he still listened. This time he was meant to hear it.

 

xxxxx

 

At a small cottage in Cheshire, England, a woman stood in the center of a room thick with dust. The soles of her shoes crunched as she walked across the glass shards scattered over the hardwood, old broken frames amidst the wreckage. A new frame was clutched to her chest, the picture it captured one of two men in military dress standing next to one another, shoulder to shoulder. One tall with a wide smile, the other shorter with a smirk. Brown curls and a feathery fringe. Green eyes and blue eyes. Both men who had fought. And won.

 

She knew one of them. Could never forget that face. She’d always marveled at how close it was to another face she had also held so dear.

 

But she knew the other face too. Recognized it in a more obscure way. It was the shadow of someone she’d seen before, immortalized in a picture that had spent the past six years face down on the floor of this very room.

 

The woman bent down, carefully lifting the frame from its bed of glass. And there he was. A Lieutenant standing proudly at the side of his Captain, reverence clear in his expression. The Captain’s arm was wrapped around the blue eyed man’s shoulders in a fatherly stance. She couldn’t pick up the picture, but she did leave it face up when she put it back to rest on the ground.

 

She stood and stepped further across the room until she got to the desk that had been the place where he had spent so much of his time when he was home...the time he wasn’t trying to reanimate the rusty Dromader or looking through binoculars at the local winged wildlife. The time he wasn’t spending with the family he’d left too soon.

 

The desk was empty, everything that had been on its surface swept to the floor in a fit of inescapable pain. The woman looked down at the frame in her hand, holding it precious for another moment, and then set it down at the center of the desk in a layer of dust.

 

“He looks happy,” she whispered. “He looks like you.”

 

There was no response, no matter how desperately it was wanted. But she’d grown used to the silence. She’d lived with it for six years, knowing that some of it was her own doing.

 

“He would make you proud, my love. Lord knows I’m proud of him. Of both of you.”

 

She hoped that maybe someday she would be able to tell him that in person. Maybe someday soon.

 

She turned and left the room, unable to bear any more time within its walls. There were too many memories, but now not all of them hurt.

  
The headline of the framed newspaper clipping that now sat on the desk of the late Captain Edward Styles read, “ _Carrying on a Legacy of Pride: Navy Heroes Call Premier Delta New Home_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ugly sobbing*
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to come chat on Tumblr (RealityBetterThanFiction)!
> 
>  
> 
> Cheers!


	12. Premier Delta (RNAS Fort Acaiseid) - Week One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a journey. Almost a year after I started, I never thought I would get to this point. I cannot express how much it means to me that you've given this story a chance. To everyone who has reached out to encourage me and leave kind words, both here and on Tumblr, I cannot thank you enough. It has meant more to me than you will ever know. This epilogue is for all of you, the squadron. So much love.
> 
> Another massive thank you goes to my pair of insanely talented RIOs (CueTheTommo and Bubblymar) who have inspired me, encouraged me, and literally dragged me through finishing this fic when I literally could not stand what I'd done to our beloved boys. I'm so lucky to have both of you, not just to keep my crazy writer brain sane, but more importantly as friends that keep ME sane. This entire fic is as much your baby as it is mine. It wouldn't have found its way here without either of you. You both (and everyone else that's read this, let's be real) know how much I love my mischievous little Irish RIO, but both of you take the cake even from him. I wish I had awards to give you both. Big shiny ones with a grinning, golden Niall on top, holding a pint of beer. I could not have asked for anyone better to be at my six. Sappy pilot analogies are now done...probably. ;-)
> 
> Disclaimer! I may be going back to edit the first few chapters with my RIOs since they came aboard half way through. No big changes, just grammar and wording things so the story is in its best shape after I finish with it. I'll mark when the final edits are complete in case anyone wants to know.
> 
>  
> 
> Without further ado, here's the epilogue!
> 
>  
> 
> p.s. Please see end notes for an exciting announcement!
> 
>  
> 
> xxxxx
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:
> 
>  
> 
> Home - One Direction
> 
> Brother - NEEDTOBREATHE
> 
> Fly - Nicki Minaj and Rihanna

Harry’s eyes scanned the sky, tracing the horizon and the rocky coastline as he cruised over the shimmering waters of Thurso Bay. He could hear the chatter on the radio from the recruits, apprehensive and alert, considering it was a half hour into their first hop and they’d yet to see any action. But that was the plan.

 

“ _ Make them sweat _ ,” had been the order. Harry figured by now their collars were sufficiently damp. He knew what that felt like. He sympathized. He also knew that it was the best way to separate the pilots who would thrive here from the ones who would fail. It was the only way to determine a pilot’s ability to succeed outside the safety of the 1D bubble. The training had to replicate the reality they would face in just six short weeks. It was a grind, there was no question, but it was necessary. After all, this wasn’t Harry’s first go round here at Premier Delta. He knew both sides of the game now. 

 

A voice crackled over the radio, the channel to which the poor, panicked recruits wouldn’t be privy. “Hiya, Pigeon. Nice day for flying, innit?” 

 

Harry smiled and looked off to the North where he could see a little speck in the distance, growing steadily closer. It only took a moment, and then there was a shining A-4 at his side. It was an exact match for his own jet, except for the pilot’s name stenciled over the wing.

 

“Lovely day. Olivia and I are enjoying the view,” Harry agreed lightly over the increasingly flustered ramblings of the recruits. He patted Olivia’s windscreen, humming along with the buzz of her engine. “On the morning walk with the dogs I was thinking, this is a fine way to start another cycle.” Their dogs, Bogey, a French Bulldog, and Bandit, a Black Shepherd, had been extra enthusiastic - and less well behaved - this morning when Harry had leashed them up and taken them for their routine walk along the coast before he headed to base. It was as if they too could feel all the excitement that came with a new recruit class arriving at Fort Acaiseid. “You did feed them like I asked, right?” Harry added.

 

“Of course I did,” Louis scoffed, as if he didn’t have a track record of it slipping his mind and then having to run back to the cottage after their first morning class to give the dogs their forgotten brekkie. It was a slow process, but Louis was learning. It had been easier teaching Bandit to sit and stay. But at least Louis had better capability to learn than Bogey. Bogey was lucky he was so cute and cuddly, because he was pretty much hopeless in everything else. Louis was marginally better. Just. 

 

“So what’s the plan?” Harry asked, turning their conversation back to the task at hand.

 

“I’ve got my sights on a fresh flock of geese who were honking this morning in the hallway about how they’re gonna beat the famed Sparrow and Rogue. Wanna help show these little goslings who they’re up against?” Harry looked into the cockpit of the A-4 next to him and could almost see the waggling of Louis’ brows.

 

Harry shrugged. “Might as well,” he said. Then he and Louis were darting off to close in on the recruits who scattered like actual startled geese. 

 

Louis reprimanded them over the radio, “Oh come  _ on _ ! You act like I’m  _ actually _ going to shoot you. If you can’t handle this, how do you expect to take down a  _ real  _ bogey who would very much like to send a missile on a one way ticket up your arse?”

 

“We’ve heard the stories. About how no one’s ever won against you,” one of the bolder recruits said as he tried to shake Louis off his tail. His efforts were not successful. Louis got him on lock a moment later.

 

“That’s not entirely true,” Louis said, voice conversational as he ruthlessly got another recruit on lock. “There was one who managed. A long time ago. You’re going to have to do better than this if you want to be the second.” Then, “Commander Styles, would you care to engage? Show these rookies how it’s done? Or are you just going to stare at my six all day while I conduct valuable flight lessons?”

 

Harry smirked, getting Diana in his sights. He bit his lip and locked on her six for a second, long enough for Louis to see it on his instrumentation and curse at him.

 

“Gotcha again,” Harry mused. “Do try to stay on guard, love. You never know who’s interested in trying to get that six of yours.” Then Harry easily disengaged the remaining recruits until they were all out of the hop. 

 

“Well, that was fun. Cheers to the first one out of the way, class,” Harry chirped over the radio. “Now, Captain Tomlinson and I will meet you all back in the briefing room to go over today’s hop...”

 

“...and talk about how I’m  _ seriously _ considering failing each and every one of you and graduating an empty stage in six weeks if I don’t see substantial progress next time you’re all up in the air,” Louis interrupted.

 

They had the good cop, bad cop thing down pretty well by now. Although Louis wasn’t really bad. Just blunt. Brutally so. But his method bred success. Premier Delta had never been so prosperous. In the five years since Louis had taken over - with Harry at his side - the program had not only grown, but absolutely exploded. It was an entirely new system, one they’d painstakingly built together, focused more on combat training and teamwork as opposed to awards and singular recognition. They’d brought in the best pilots to be instructors, including a few familiar faces in the names of Commanders Payne, Malik, Sheeran, Corden and Aurand, and of course Dr. Smith representing the intel side of things. It yielded undeniable results in the skill and proficiency of its graduates, who were stationed in positions of importance and power all over the globe. Culdrose was happy. The British government was happy. And Louis had secured himself a stable long term position for as long as he wanted it. 

 

Harry and Louis still went on the occasional missions every now and again, when situations got truly dire. There was still stress and worry sometimes when they were apart for those brief times. Harry battled moments of true panic every time a phone call woke him up in the middle of the night, worried that it was someone bearing devastating news. It was usually just Louis, forgetting about such trivial things as time differences, but once - just once - it hadn’t been him. Harry viscerally remembered the sinking feeling of dread as he raced to the base for transport to the medical facility in Turkey where Louis had ended up after his plane had been shot down on a mission in the Mediterranean Sea. It had been the longest five hours of Harry’s life with no word on Louis’ condition since he was on foreign soil. When he’d gotten there with a foreign ambassador from Culdrose to smooth over the situation, it was to find Louis sitting up in bed with a sling on his arm and a few fresh bruises on his face, grumbling about how the food was shit and that they shouldn’t have bothered Harry with this, that he was fine. Harry had smacked him...then hugged him for a solid half hour, refusing to let go until his own heart rate steadied to a normal pace. This life they led always had its risks, but they were together in it. Louis realized that when Harry emphatically reminded him of how he’d been after Harry’s ejection at Premier Delta. Then Louis didn’t dare put up a fuss when Harry diligently nursed him back to health, long after such care was strictly needed.

 

But for the most part, those tough days were few and far between. They got to stay in Thurso for the better part of the year, with a few trips back down to the motherland to visit family on breaks between cycles at 1D. Both Louis’  _ and _ Harry’s family. Now one family after a small summer wedding at Holburn Head Lighthouse just last year. They wore the rings on their dog tags, Louis’ beside the well loved pendant that had been in his possession since Harry had given it to him five years ago after his own graduation from Premier Delta.

 

Harry watched as the new crop of hopeful future graduates all began to head back to base, tails between their legs. He waited until the sky was clear, just he and Louis left, before he radioed in.

 

“Tower this is Ghostrider three-two-niner, requesting a fly-by,” Harry said, a broad smile on his face beneath his mask. He knew what was coming.

 

“Oi,” crackled the voice of the tower commander immediately, “Why do you bother to keep asking every time, ya bloody git? You never did listen to a word I said anyway, even when I was in the same fuckin’ plane as you. Why start now?”

 

“Touchy, touchy, Irish,” Louis admonished playfully. “You’d think that a promotion from being a bloody sandbag to a  _ tower commander _ would give you less reason to whine.”

 

“Oh, pardon me, Captain Cock Gobbler. I like directin’ traffic. Better than being strapped behind one of you wankers. I just don’t appreciate  _ my _ tower getting rattled because you fuckers like playing  _ Top Gun. _ ”

 

“Coming from you, that’s blasphemy,” Harry teased. He smiled, thinking of Niall red faced and fuming as he legged his way around the tower with his Irish flag emblazoned cane and singlehandedly kept the entire damn base running smoothly. He was quite fond of using his cane as a weapon in that effort, so Harry carefully pondered his options...then decided a bruise or two was worth it. He turned his head and nodded at Louis. Louis nodded back in silent communication, both gaining speed as they headed back to the airstrip.

 

“Lunch back at the cottage after we land?” Harry asked to distract from their plan.

 

“Are you cooking?”

 

“Do you ever?”

 

Louis inverted and flew right over Harry, a scant three metres between their cockpits. He blew Harry a kiss, flipped him the bird, and then jetted off ahead of him.

 

“Ah, so we’re communicating?” Harry teased, pushing his throttle forward to follow.

 

“You always say it’s important for a healthy relationship,” Louis quipped.

 

“Ugh. Stop talking dirty to me during work hours.”

 

Niall chirped in again, “I second that considering I have to bloody listen to it. Excuse me while I gag. I hope you two can manage a landing on your own while I’m hangin’ over the rubbish bin chucking up breakfast.”

 

Harry snorted. “Please, Niall. You’d never allow yourself to lose a belly full of food.”

 

“Too true. Now if you lads are done messin’ about up there. Me lassie’s got lunch on the table at two. I’m not about to sit down a second later’n that or the little devils will have eaten my share.”

 

“I wonder where they get their appetite?” Harry mused.

 

“As long as they don't take after their Uncle Harry for their pilot skills, I think we’ll be alright,” Niall shot back.

 

Niall had predictably fallen in love with his sassy physio, Fiona, over green jello while he fought through his long recovery. It hadn’t been easy, and there were still lingering effects in the way of a left leg that wasn’t quite the same, a few vision problems, and occasional memory lapses, but beneath that he was the same Niall. Harry was so grateful to have him back in his life, in whatever capacity. Niall was just as pleased, and had only one request when Harry and Louis had asked him to join them at 1D as their new tower commander. 

 

_ “Do I get a plus one? I got the shakes, mates. My world has been rocked. I think I found my very own RIO. And I’m bringing her along for the ride.” _

 

Niall and Fiona had been married just over three years now, with two little ones at home and another one on the way in a few short months. Harry and Louis had been the godparents to their twins, an adorable little lad named Georgie and a sweet baby girl named Rosie. The third was still a surprise, but Niall kept insisting it was going to be another girl each time he held one sided conversations with Fiona’s bump. Based on the size of that bump - and the amount of food Fiona was ingesting while pregnant - this one would also likely share the Horan family genetics of being able to put away enough food to feed a literal army. Niall was a proud father. Fiona was a mildly horrified mother managing the grocery bills. Together they were the perfect parents. The perfect family.

 

“Tower to Larry Stylinson,” Niall huffed. “Get the fuck back on the ground already. I’m hungry.”

 

“Enough playing with the birds, I think,” Louis said when Harry finally caught up.

 

Louis unstrapped his mask and grinned over at Harry, mischief in his eyes. Harry knew what he was about to say and groaned. It was always the same.

 

“Hey, Sparrow. You big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever.”

 

Harry looked out his window at the A-4 on his wing, at the small HS that was now inscribed on Diana’s belly right below the equally small ES. Harry had LT on Olivia’s belly now too, along with ES, AS and NH. It was a reminder of why they laid their lives on the line everyday to keep one another safe. To keep the ones they loved safe. To keep each other grounded. Because even though they loved living with their heads in the clouds, there was always something better to keep them coming back down.

 

Harry couldn’t help but smile back. Every time. “Show me the way home, honey.”

 

Harry looked down at the steadily approaching airstrip and the little tower to its left and said,  “Sorry, Craic, but it’s time to buzz the tower.”

 

They blasted by the tower at Mach one, earning a string of Ireland’s best profanity over the radio. “Thanks Dickriders, nearly burned me crown jewels with coffee!” Niall hollered, but then he let loose a roaring laugh, unable to keep up his facade any longer. “I want arses! Just wait till I get my hands on you, Bum Bandit!”

 

As he often did in moments like this, Harry remembered one important fact.

 

_ I love my job, _ Commander Harry Styles thought with a grin as wide as the sky around him, slamming the yoke to the side and sending his beautiful A-4 Skyhawk spinning like a barrel down a hill. This was what he had always dreamed of, what he had wanted for as long as he could remember. Now he had it...and so much more.

 

Out his window, Harry watched Louis’ A-4 start spinning too. They zipped around each other and then took off for the horizon, twin sonic booms echoing over the Scottish coast as they shot across the sky.

  
Yes. Harry Styles fucking loved his job. And his life.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, squadron! 
> 
> Shout-out to Lara for the wonderful idea of pet names. Hope you don't mind, but it was just too perfect to pass up. ;-)
> 
> ANNOUNCEMENT: For everyone who thinks Niall got the short end of the stick in this fic (because Niall deserves everything good in life), guess what? I AGREE. That's why I am going to be doing a little one shot from his perspective about his recovery! No time frame, as I've only got a very little bit of it written right now, but I'm not quite ready to give this verse up yet. I'm going to take a little break from the world of One Direction Avionics for awhile first, because after finishing this monster, I need it. But I'll be back soon with more Craic for ya! 
> 
> In the meantime, as always, come say hello here or on Tumblr (RealityBetterThanFiction)! 
> 
>  
> 
> Cheers and love!
> 
>  
> 
> xoxo


End file.
